True Colors
by Dee Bradfield
Summary: LINKVERSE SERIES - PART THREE. Buffy & Spike try normal on for size, with predictable results... But what have fairies got to do with anything? Please R&R.
1. Coming Around

**__**

Title: TRUE COLORS.  
Author: Dee Bradfield.  
**Rating:** PG.**  
Summary:** The Gemel look forward to the imminent arrival of the Little Nipper, but they're not the only ones ... and what the hell have fairies got to do with anything?  
**Timeline:** If the summary made the kind of sense that's not, you might wanna know that this is actually the third installment in the Link-verse Series. The other parts are 'Shades of Grey' and 'In A Different Light'. Set in a completely AU Season Five with occasional Angel crossovers.   
**Feedback:** _deebradfield@hotmail.com__ (Don't make me beg, it's not pretty).  
**Disclaimer: **With the possible exception of some demons, I don't own any of these characters. I'd be a helluva lot richer if I did.  
**Dedication:** To everyone who read the other stories and kept me inspired._

~*[+]*~  
"Just because everything is different  
doesn't mean that anything has changed."  
- Irene Peter.

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EPISODE ONE  
"Coming Around"

Late afternoon in Sunnydale, California ordinarily proved to be the most uneventful part of the day - if you were one of those deluded souls who believed that a town built on a Hellmouth could be deemed ordinary or uneventful. Even so, it was that deceptively peaceful lull before the sun truly set and the town's unlimited reserve of evildoers came out to play that Rupert Giles allowed himself a moment to relax.

It was just past closing time at the Magic Box and he busied himself unloading a new shipment of porcelain fairies onto the store's main display table, muttering halfhearted complaints to Anya about the absurdity of such items as he worked. He was holding one of the dainty figurines in his palm, poised to remark on it's striking resemblance to Willow, when the rear door burst open and Spike strode through. The vampire was all predatory grace and swooshing leather, his cap of white-blonde hair gleaming in the artificial light. He seemed upset, lapsing into a holding pattern of pacing near the circular study table.

He and Buffy must have had a disagreement. _Again_. 

For a couple with such a comprehensive bond, they had more than their share. Giles had to admit that the incessant and frankly irritating bickering that had always been a part of their relationship most likely always would be. It wasn't as if a vampire and a Slayer were _supposed_ to be mated for life. They were enemies by their very nature, though why the pair insisted on bringing all and sundry into their spats was beyond the Watcher's ken. Such things weren't for public consumption as far as he was concerned.

Buffy wandered in, as tiny and ethereal as one of the fairy statuettes with a disorderly chin-length crop of platinum-streaked curls and intense sea-green eyes. She moved at a more sedate pace than her partner and came to a standstill by the glorified ladder that led to the upper level. She leant against its metal framework, fingers wrapping tightly around the banister as though it were a lifeline. She watched Spike's hyperactive display for a moment, a worried crease marring her brow, then asked, "But can you be absolutely, positively positive?"

"What do you want, a written bloody guarantee? He's _fine!_" Spike was adamant, a muscle ticking in his lean cheek as he ground his teeth together. "Now leave off, would you?"

"I don't _mean_ to be in your face with the Harpy Gal routine, it's just ... I can't tell. You know, if he's..." Her voice tailed off into an insecure silence. That alone was enough to bring the vampire to an abrupt halt.

"Here." Spike stalked over to her and cupped one hand at the nape of her neck, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. His other hand boldly stroked the curve of her stomach.

"What are you -?"

"Shh. Relax, love. Feel through me."

Buffy closed her eyes, calmed by his touch and velvety tone in spite of herself. She sighed and edged fractionally closer, her hands enfolding his larger one to still its movement.

"Use my ears. Listen careful."

Spike's voice seemed to resonate inside her and she followed its softly fading echoes, frowning when they took on a frantic back beat.

__

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud... 

Okay, that was so _not_ a back beat. It was going way too fast for a start. An amphetamine-crazed raver couldn't even dance to that. In fact, it almost sounded like... 

"Oh." Her eyes flew open, her astounded green gaze colliding with Spike's indulgent blue one. "Oh my God!"

He smiled. "There you go."

"Wow. That's really ... Wow." Buffy couldn't begin to identify each of the emotions she was feeling, although absolute joy was right at the top of the list. Closely followed by relief. Their baby was alive. Alive and kicking and existent in an entirely normal pulse-having human way - _not_ the evil mutated demony one she'd secretly been terrified of. "You can hear that all the time?" 

Why hadn't he told her? Why, for that matter, hadn't she known all along? The link was just downright unreliable these days - maybe it needed a tune up or something.

"Yeah. S'pose I could shut it out if I wanted, but why would I? That's our Nipper in there."

"And he's got a real snappy heartbeat goin' on." Buffy's eyes closed one more time as she reveled in the rhythmic sound. She nodded her head in thoughtful counterpoint. "I'd give it an eight out of ten. High marks awarded for the enjoyment factor, but you can't really dance to it." She took a deep steadying breath and shot him a rueful glance. "I was kind of afraid he'd be Jo-Jo the Freaky Vamp-baby or something."

Spike nuzzled her hairline. "Think I didn't know that?"

"You're such a pig." The mild insult was accompanied by one of her rare, sun-bright smiles and an affectionate smack on the cheek. "But, I love you anyway."

"Know that, too." The hand at her nape meandered its way down her spine, leaving over-stimulated nerve endings in its wake. She shivered.

"A-_hem_."

The not-so-subtle throat clearing made both vampire and Slayer jump. They exchanged a chagrined look and reluctantly separated.

Giles suppressed his amusement at their response. He'd hated to interrupt, but they couldn't afford to be so entirely absorbed in each other, it could prove dangerous.

"If I had been a Marrow-Sucking Lersch demon, you would have been in extreme jeopardy," he admonished. Once a Watcher, always a Watcher.

"If you'd been a Lersch demon, you'd be dead."

The flat certainty in Spike's voice made Giles' skin crawl. Apparently the vampire hadn't been so distracted after all.

"Hey Giles!" Buffy chirped, attempting to diffuse the sudden tension in the air. She had pretty much given up on the idea of them ever getting along. They were too alike for that.

Spike's lip curled in disgust. He'd heard that last bit. 

"Alike?" he asked via the link, scornful gaze raking the other man up and down. "Like bleedin' hell."

Buffy just smiled, ostensibly keeping her attention on the Watcher.

Giles, for his part, had the distinct impression that he was missing something. 

That impression was confirmed when Spike muttered the words "stupid bloody tweed" under his breath and sauntered away to pester Anya at the counter. The ex-vengeance demon was in the midst of processing the day's takings and he immediately made her lose count.

"Guess what?" Buffy bubbled, cutting off the inevitable 'what's going on?' inquisition. "Nipper's alive."

"There was some doubt about this?" The glance Giles shot toward her midsection was cursory at best. He tried to avoid the subject most of the time.

"Never thought I'd say this to you of all people but, _DUH!_" Buffy rolled her eyes. "Can you say 'undead gene pool'? He has got a vampire for a daddy."

"Yes, of course." Giles' hands twitched, wanting to strangle said vampire for having the temerity to touch his Slayer. He resorted to cleaning his glasses instead, using only a touch more pressure than was necessary. "By what means have these suspicions been quelled? Sonogram?"

Buffy's snort made him cringe inwardly. She adopted more and more of Spike's mannerisms every day. It bordered on intolerable.

"Who needs a sonogram when you've got incredibly sharp ears?" she asked. "Not Spock sharp, Superman sharp." She all but bounced on the spot in her excitement. "I got the full cinematic surround-sound version of his wicked little heartbeat. Wicked cool, I mean, not wicked evil." She grinned impishly. "Hey, listen to me, making with the clarifications! Honestly, there was some weirdness, but it was that special link-a-licious weird we all enjoy so much."

"That's marvelous news, really." Giles could hear the detached politeness in his own voice and hated himself for it. He might not be pleased about the situation, but Buffy deserved more from him. 

She nodded happily, oblivious to his turmoil, and smoothed the pink cotton of her shirt over her generously rounded belly, straightening a wayward pleat.

Giles followed the action, somewhat shocked, now that he was paying closer attention, by how very _maternal _she looked. How far along was she now? Six months? Seven?

Up until now he'd been able to overlook the true significance of her condition. It hadn't interfered with the slaying routine at all. She continued to train on a regular basis, and she and Spike patrolled as normal. Obviously that couldn't go on for too much longer. Judging by her girth alone, there would have to be changes made, and soon.

Moreover, _he_ would have to stop burying is head in the sand. Time to get past your prejudices, Rupert. Your Slayer is pregnant. What are you going to do about it?

First things first. "Have you and Spike discussed marriage at all?"

Buffy blinked up at him. "What? I mean, I ... uh ... _what?_"

"You have to consider the moral upbringing of your child, Buffy. He needs a stable environment."

"Stable?" She looked bewildered. "You are talking about Spike, right?"

Her gaze flickered to a point beyond his shoulder and Giles pivoted on his heels to see the vampire regarding them curiously, one eyebrow cocked skyward. He made no move to join them, however. He was completely capable of eavesdropping on their conversation from where he was.

"I - I must concede that he's adapted to domesticity surprisingly well," Giles continued, turning back to his protege. The compliment left a bitter taste in his mouth but he was bound and determined to be supportive. He had a lot of lost time to make up for. "He's become quite the homemaker. I understand that he even managed to establish a legal identity for himself?"

"Yeah, he did. All set up, Green Card and everything. _Please_ don't ask the how." Buffy's pretty face crinkled up in confusion. "Giles, where is this coming from? The taking-a-sudden-interest is appreciated, don't get me wrong. It's just... You haven't exactly been Supporto Guy lately. Pre-lately even."

He frowned, peering at a non-existent speck on his glasses and then pretending to scour it with his handkerchief. He didn't look directly at her. 

"I'm trying dreadfully hard, Buffy, the least you could do is ignore my previous ... hardheadedness."

"Is that what you call it?" She tipped her head to one side in a decidedly Spike-like pose, lips pressing together as she tried to contain a smile. 

"'Nother bloody-minded Brit," Spike noted, popping up unannounced at Giles' shoulder and grinning like a loon when the man flinched. "P'rhaps we've something in common after all?"

"Indeed." Giles almost squirmed, the most recent instance of sharing something with the vampire springing to mind. That hadn't ended well. He still had nightmares about it.

"So, Poddy," Spike addressed the Slayer casually. "You 'bout ready for patrol or what?" He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder at the door. "It's gettin' dark out."

Buffy raised herself on tiptoe to kiss Giles' cheek. 

"Thank you," she murmured quietly, giving his forearm a grateful squeeze before rebuking her partner. "Don't call me 'Poddy'." She paused in the process of adjusting her over-sized denim coat and frowned at him. "What the hell does that mean anyway? Or don't I want to know?"

Giles hesitated. Should he really get involved in what would inevitably become an another argument? Oh well, in for a penny... 

"It's one of our quaint English colloquialisms," he supplied. "It means 'pot-bellied' or 'fat'."

The blonde vampire threw him an irritated look right before Buffy began pummeling his side. "OW! Mind the leather, pet." 

"You asshole!" she cried. _Thump_. "It's not like I need reminding of how huge I am." _Thump_. _Thump_. "I hate you."

Spike's angular face was an odd combination of laughter and pain. "Quit it, would you?" He tried to duck away and was rewarded with a kick in the shin. "Hey, that hurt! You're not fat, all right? You're just ... nicely rounded."

"Aargh!" _Thump. Kick._

"Oi! Watch it, Slayer, that's delicate terrain!"

There was a brief skirmish until Spike seized her wrists and held her away from his body. He waited until she stopped struggling before gazing intently into her eyes. 

"Buffy, you _know_ how I feel about you," his voice was utterly sincere. "You're more beautiful now than when I first saw you. Trust me." He released her wrists and cautiously looped his arms around her middle. "You're _always_ beautiful."

Buffy melted in a gooey lovesick puddle. "Aw, that's so sweet," she crooned, snuggling up against his chest. Her violent outburst was already forgotten.

Giles stared them, incredulous.

The vampire met the Watcher's eyes. "Hormones," he mouthed, flashing a conspiratorial wink.

"I heard that," Buffy mumbled.

Spike let out a strangled snort and then they both started giggling. 

Giles sighed and shook his head. 

Looking at them now, so deceptively young and carefree, it was difficult to find any indication that they were the Gemel - the purported Guardians of the Bridge, ordained by the Powers That Be and destined for greatness in this lifetime and the next. For a couple with such heavy obligations, they were being remarkably irresponsible.

His internal criticism abated as the importance of the title suddenly registered. Good Lord, had he been paying no attention at all? Wesley had uncovered multiple references to the Guardians of the Bridge in the Trionic Ledgers of Pylea. Could this 'Bridge' be the child that he had been so studiously ignoring? This pregnancy could very well be an omen - a foreshadowing of the End of Days and the ensuing Aftertime that Herald had mistakenly referred to all those months ago.

But then again, perhaps he was over-reacting. Wasn't 'bridge' merely another word for 'link'?

The Guardians in question remained oblivious to his musings and headed off to patrol. Spike lagged behind as they neared the front door, something catching his attention. He angled his head and stared at the display table, then veered across to pick up the Willow-esque fairy that Giles had noticed earlier. 

"Take a peep, love," he said, waving it under Buffy's nose. "'S Red, innit?"

Buffy tried to focus on the continually moving object. "Yeah, if she was flying around like a blurry flying thing." She rescued the fairy from his clutches, eyes widening as she studied it. The Willow fairy grinned mischievously up at her, all tousled red hair and keen eyes, one of her teeny porcelain hands raised in the process of casting a spell. "Okay, that's scary." 

Spike began searching the display. "She's got a birthday coming up, yeah? Wonder if there's a Glinda to match."

Buffy beamed. "You have all the best ideas."

"And I'm cute too."

"Thank you Super Grover. Any luck there?"

He scowled, unable to find what he wanted, and then hunkered down to pry open one of the boxes that Giles had yet to unpack, scrounging around inside and generating an avalanche of Styrofoam beans. 

Buffy rolled her eyes at the mess he was making. "Guess patrol will have to wait," she muttered. "Just when I really wanted to kill something, too."

Spike paused in his search long enough to throw her a suspicious glance, then sighed in frustration and upended the container.

"Here!" Giles protested. "I hope you're going to clean that up!" He seemed to realize that the condition of the floor shouldn't be his main concern and straightened indignantly. "And don't bloody break anything!"

Spike ignored the warning, his scowl deepening as he pulled model after model from the chaos, carefully perusing and then discarding each one. A little troop of rejected pixies began to assemble at his side.

Buffy carefully lowered herself to sit amid the Styrofoam snowballs on the floor and watched the vampire go about his hunt. He could be so totally single-minded. Over the years that trait had proven to be both good _and_ bad. This time it was definitely of the good.

"Humph." 

With a satisfied grunt, Spike sat back on his heels. He extended a delicate golden-hued fairy toward the Slayer. This one had been posed with both hands cupping a flower, offering the bloom with a shy, lop-sided grin. "Glinda," he said with a smirk.

"So now we have a Willow and a Tara," she observed. "Yay you."

The corners of his eyes crinkled as his smirk deepened into a more genuine kind of smile. He held up his other hand. "And behind door number two ... _Anyanka_!"

"Ooh!" Anya squealed and skittered out from behind the counter, her high heels tapping on the tiled floor. "There's a me?" She fell to her knees at Spike's side and all but snatched the figurine from his hand. The imitation Anya peered coyly over her shoulder at them, a sparkling crystal clutched possessively to her breast.

"Reckon if we looked hard enough, all the Scooby-ettes'd be in there." Spike stopped and considered that. "Doesn't that seem on the odd side?"

"It does rather." Giles approached them with a furrowed brow. "Anya do we have a bill of lading for this shipment?"

The ex-demon was too entranced by her miniature likeness to answer for a minute. "What? Yeah." She gestured toward the counter she'd just abandoned. "Over there." She made no move to get up.

Buffy continued to explore the box. "I found me," she said. "Ugh! Check out the clothing, or the lack of. I look like a punk Tinkerbell ... a _real_ _skinny_ punk Tinkerbell." She stared at the gamine figure and let out a wistful sigh. "I used to be able to wear stuff like that ... I mean, not that I _would_." 

Spike plucked it out of her hands, captivated by the scantily clad reproduction. She had been depicted in full Slayer mode - sharp little chin pitched at a defiant angle, arms akimbo and feet firmly planted. "I'm keepin' this one."

"After you pay for it of course," Giles glared down at him with what he hoped was authority, before heading back to the counter.

Spike narrowed his eyes at the Watcher's retreating back and defiantly tucked the figurine into his duster pocket. He reached for yet another unopened box. "So, what's in here then?" He didn't wait for Giles to come back with the listing, but tore it open with enthusiasm. 

"Destructive, isn't he?" Anya commented.

"Yep." Buffy gazed at him with open adoration. "It's part of what makes him so hot."

Anya gave the vampire a skeptical once over. "If you say so."

Spike's impromptu cardboard massacre came to a sudden halt. He froze mid-rip, an awed expression flitting across his face, before he turned to Buffy and placed a hand on her swollen stomach. 

"Hey you," he murmured, rubbing in soothing circles. "Settle."

The Slayer grinned at him, leaning back a bit to give him better access. A distinct bulge rose and fell like tide water beneath the pink cotton. "Felt that one, did ya?"

"Nip gets stronger every day, don't he?"

Buffy pursed her lips at the nickname. "We still haven't settled on a proper name, you know."

"What'cha mean 'we'?" Spike demanded. "All my suggestions get bloody shot down."

Anya gave them a cheery grin. "You could name him after a respected friend, or a father figure," she suggested. "That's usually popular."

Spike eyed Giles sourly as the man rejoined them. "Over my dead body."

"That third lot should have the male figurines," Giles reported, perusing a yellow invoice. He glanced up and realized that Spike had already begun to demolish the package. "Well?"

Spike delved back into the Styrofoam. Disgusting stuff. He probably had it stuck in his hair. 

He pulled out three items before he found one he recognized. "Angel," he said, lifting it up to show the others.

"I now declare this officially wiggy," Buffy announced. 

Spike snorted, still gazing at the replica of his Sire. It was impeccably detailed, right down to the spiky hair and caveman brow, and captured him mid-swing with a broadsword. The only differences to the real deal were the medieval-style clothing, the delicate wings and pointed ears. "Sodding thing's even got the brood on its face," he grumbled. Annoyed, he flicked it sharply in the head with his finger.

"Angel doesn't brood anymore, honey," Buffy reminded him. "He's all curse-less gettin'-a-happy boy now."

"Bully for him." Spike dropped the statuette onto the floor and dug back into the foam to pull out the rest. 

"Bully for Cordelia," Buffy corrected.

The door swung open behind them, setting the overhead bell jangling, and they all jumped. Xander stopped inside the doorway and gave them a superior look, hands planted on his hips.

"Thou shalt not fear!" he proclaimed in a booming voice. "For the Xan-man cometh!"

"Oh, Xander look!" Anya bounced up to her beau's side and thrust her fairy at him.

"Very pretty," he said, not really looking at it at all.

Anya scowled. "Not as pretty as Buffy's obviously," she griped. "You didn't shove me in your pocket like Spike did."

Giles took interest at that. "I assume payment will be forthcoming?" he asked the vampire pointedly.

Spike just gave him a smarmy grin.

Xander finally recognized that something was amiss. 

"What'd I miss?" He waded through the sea of Styrofoam beans and bent down to peer at the pint-sized Scooby Gang that Spike was segregating from the other statues. "Sweet Mother! Those are us! That's one's me!"

The Xander fairy had a teasing grin on its fabricated face. His bared arms rested across his chest and one finger pointed playfully at them, as though he was poking fun. He also had a set of wings and pointy ears.

"And the whelp gets a clue," Spike drawled. He tipped his chin at the invoice in Giles' hand. "That say who made 'em?"

"'Aftertime Creations'," Giles read. He sighed. "Oh dear."

"I hate when he says that," Xander noted. "Are we going to have another Apocalypse?"

"Quite possibly." Giles did not sound pleased. That was probably a good thing, though, 'cause an Apocalypse wasn't something that you actually got pleased about - unless you were totally evil.

Buffy fidgeted, a pained groan escaping of its own accord.

Spike's head snapped around. "What?" His gaze flickered rapidly from her face to her stomach and back again, then he winced and pressed a fist into his side. "Bloody hell!"

"What?" Xander echoed. He had his confused face on. It was a familiar look for him.

"Let's just say the whole 'foot jammed under your ribcage' experience? Not pleasant." Buffy twisted her torso, trying to relieve the pressure. "Down boy!"

"Kid's got your bleedin' kick on him," Spike accused breathlessly.

"And your persistence," she returned.

"Xander?" Anya asked in a plaintive voice, observing their discomfort with something akin to panic.

"Yeah?"

"Let's never have children."

He gave her a broad smile. "Let's never say never, okay?"

"Nipper's just a bit antsy," Buffy told them reassuringly. She shot a fleeting glance at Spike, who dutifully lifted her to her feet without any further prompting. "I should patrol. A hearty dose of vamp-dust usually settles him down."

Xander stared at her. "And that's a good thing?"

"Hell yeah." Her eyes lit with yellow sparks at the prospect of some slayage. "Fun for the whole family."

Xander shuddered. He still couldn't get used to that. The yellow part _or_ the family part.

Spike's lips twisted wryly at the reaction, but he refrained from commenting on it. "So you lot can hold down Fort Fairy while we go slay some nasties then?"

"Yes, by all means," Giles replied absently, his focus centered on the invoice in his hand. "I'll see what I can ascertain about these 'Aftertime Creations' people from the store's records." He gazed off into space, his thoughts wandering off on a tangent. "It is after operating hours, however. If they are a legitimate business there's no point in investigating until tomorrow. Willow could undoubtedly find something on that horrid computer of hers..."

Buffy took the Giles-babble as her cue to leave. She grabbed Spike by the sleeve and pulled him outside like a disobedient pet. 

The vampire, for his part, disregarded any negative undertones stemming from her performance. He wasn't the least bit threatened by her bossiness. When it came right down to it, he rather enjoyed her little displays of dominance. It was part of what made her such a great Slayer. 

"John," he volunteered, casually slinging an arm around her waist as they headed off toward the first cemetery of the night. Their games of 'Name the Nipper' had become a patrolling tradition over the last few months.

"Paul." Buffy's response came automatically. 

"George? Ringo?" He chuckled. "Sorry, sunshine. Even I'm not that cruel."

"Okay then... Um, Michael."

"He was one of the archangels yeah? The fighty one." He mulled it over for a second. "'S not that horrible, but I have to say that anything Angel-related is off limits. Bad enough I ended up bein' his sodding namesake."

Buffy loved that both vampires bore the name Liam now. It was so incredibly cute. Ironic as hell, but cute. She also understood her partner's very mixed feelings on the subject. She pretended to consider an alternative, then chirped, "Enrique."

Spike sent her a withering glance, his brows stitching together in a show of pique. "That's not funny anymore."

She giggled. "It is! You get that same look on your face every time."

"Do not." 

She just nodded up at him. "Uh huh. That's the one."

The vampire rolled his eyes skyward and changed the subject. "So," he said. "Rupert seems to be coming around."

"It's been a slow process but it finally looks that way. Better late then never, I guess." Buffy leant her head into his shoulder and snickered against the leathered surface. "Did you see his face?"

"When you all but stuck your gut in it?" Spike snorted. "Bang up job you did on that score. Told you rubbin' his nose in it would do the trick."

"Hmm ... Sneaky tactics from such an impatient vamp. Who knew you could be so devious?"

"Ex-creature of the darkness here, pet. Dab hand at deviant behavior." He puffed up his chest, feigning indignance. "And you needn't've gotten so carried away with the defendin'-your-honor part by the way." He held one side of his duster open. "Black and blue under here."

"Oh, suck it up you big wimp." She stabbed a finger into his ribs, unrepentantly leaving another bruise. "You'll be totally healed by morning."

"Fabulous. Just in time to embark on the next spine tingling caper with the intrepid Scoobies."

"What'd you expect? It's been all quiet on the Hellmouth front. No major bad has gone down for months. We needed some weirdness to liven up the place." As they reached the cemetery gates, Buffy rearranged the stakes in her pockets for easier access, tucking one into the back of her pants. "Or deaden up the place. I like the deadening part."

Spike squinted off into the distance where two newly risen vampires were lumbering through the headstones. One was tall and lean, the other short and stocky. "First on the bill this evening," he announced. "Laurel and Hardy."

"Dibs on Hardy." Buffy flashed him an impudent grin and charged off into the darkness. "Hey you! Poddy!"

Spike lingered in the shadows for a second and watched her go, bemused by her high spirits. It was only after she tried a flying tackle on her opponent that he rushed in after her - backing her up like he always did and protecting what was his. 

"Are you bloody daft, woman? You can't pull any o' that acrobatic nonsense now. Your center of gravity's all screwed up..."

**__**

A/N: I'm not really sure if the meaning of the word 'Poddy' is correct. I found it in a really old dictionary and it sounded so much like something Spike would say. In Outback OZ they use it to describe a calf that's been hand reared - a fatted calf, so to speak. Either way, it's a winner! **:)**


	2. A Link between Two Bridges

**__**

EPISODE TWO  
"A Link between Two Bridges"

Giles climbed the porch steps of 1630 Revello Drive at a dawdling pace, not wanting to appear too eager. He wasn't eager at all really, so the deception wasn't that hard to pull off. 

He hadn't visited the house since Spike had properly moved in. He hadn't been comfortable with the idea of their living together. At the time, he was still in shock from the Serpiente debacle and hadn't been capable of putting up much of an argument. When he had finally come to his senses, it had been too late. And by then Buffy was already pregnant, even if they hadn't yet been aware of it.

The Watcher sighed and knocked at the front door.

There was a faint rumbling inside, someone running down the stairs, and the door swung open to reveal Spike. The vampire was barely dressed, gadding about in a pair of black satin boxer shorts with red cartoon devils on them. His eyes were heavy lidded from sleep and his hair stuck up in unruly tufts.

"Why're you here?" he growled, less than pleased by the Watcher's presence on his doorstep. 

A thankfully fully-clothed Buffy appeared at her partner's side. She slapped the bare skin of his shoulder hard enough to leave a handprint. "Don't just stand there, fuzz head, let him in!" 

Spike ignored the blow. He scratched at the nape of his neck and padded off down the hall. Headed for the kitchen, no doubt. 

"Hi Giles! Is there fairy news?" Buffy was uncommonly perky for this time of day and all but skipped into the lounge, her simple white sundress swishing around her rotund form.

Giles followed. "Oh, uh, no. Willow is coming in to work on it later. I actually wanted to bring you this." He shoved a small, elegantly wrapped parcel in her direction. "Belated house-warming gift. Or early baby shower, take your pick."

"Oh, Giles, you didn't have to do that." She lowered herself into a chair and toyed with the ribbon. "I'm real glad you did, though. Presents are always of the good." 

While the gift was being unwrapped, a task Buffy undertook with painstaking care, Giles took the opportunity to study the decor. The room seemed cozier, more intimate.

"I like what you've done to the place," he said.

Buffy glanced up. "Less frilly, more Willy." She blinked and reddened. "I so didn't mean that the way it sounded."

Giles smiled tightly, not bothering to comment.

The signs of Spike's inhabitance were subtle, but obvious if you knew where to look - the leather duster on the hook by the front door for starters. Then there was the room itself. 

The arty knick-knacks had vanished, so too many of the potted plants, and a greater number of bookcases now lined the tawny-hued walls, brimming with literary treasures. There were candles on every available surface and more cushions scattered about - a plethora of cushions in plush materials and jeweled colors. 

A portrait of Joyce had pride of place on a side table, along with an old sepia-toned print of someone possibly related to Spike, but the assorted snapshots that had decorated the walls throughout the house were gone. In lieu of their familial warmth, there was a large gilt-framed drawing hanging over the mantle, a beautiful pencil sketch of Buffy and Spike in one of their self-absorbed embraces, completely lost in each other. The love depicted on their faces was palpable, and Giles found himself drifting over to seek out the artist's signature. 

Ah, Angel. Of course.

He turned back around to find Spike watching him from the hallway. He'd made an abortive attempt to comb his hair and had conceded to modesty by pulling on a frayed pair of blue jeans and a navy shirt, the latter hanging unbuttoned from his lean frame. Beyond him on the wall by the staircase was a Sex Pistols poster - 'Never Mind the Bollocks...'

"What'd we get?" he asked, gesturing to the now-opened gift with the mug in his hand.

Buffy held up the little elfin Spike from the Aftertime Collection, companion to the Slayer that had been swiped the day before. The winged figurine leant against a porcelain tree stump and sneered at them, his tiny white head tilted to one side. A curved sword was held nonchalantly in one hand, giving him just the slightest air of menace - '_I'm cute, but I can still chop you into messes if I want_.'

"Look," she gushed. "Aren't you adorable? Thanks Giles."

The vampire raised an eyebrow. "Assume that means I'm off the hook for the other?"

Giles inclined his head in acknowledgement and got a smirk in return.

"Here," Buffy pushed the miniature at him. "Put it up there on the mantle with skinny-me." 

After complying, Giles took a seat on the sofa. "I've, uh, been doing some soul-searching of late, and I realize that I've been neglecting my duty to you as your Watcher. I've decided to rectify the situation by documenting any and all information on your link and it's relevance to the Pylean prophecies."

Spike dropped onto the sofa beside him. "That's long overdue, mate."

"Yes, I believe I mentioned that." Giles pulled a pen and notebook from the portfolio he'd brought with him. "Last things first," he said. "Your pregnancy. The symptoms have been shared equally?"

"Shared, yeah. Don't know about the equal," Spike said.

"Spike got the morning sickness and general all-round incapacitating nausea," Buffy reported. "I get the gigantic baby-belly, the cramps, the swollen ankles, the constant need to pee..."

Giles cleared his throat, embarrassed by the subject matter. "Be that as it may, you both experience the child's kicking?"

The Slayer nodded. "Spike takes the brunt of most of the big ones. It's like... " She frowned and made an absent gesture with one hand, struggling to find the correct description. "Like the link sort of _protects_ me by shunting the major ouchies his way."

The vampire snorted into his mug and mumbled something under his breath that earned him a scathing look from Buffy. He ignored her.

Giles dithered a moment, staring at his notes. "You understand that if this particular trend continues, Spike will be the one enduring the bulk of your labor pain?"

The vampire sat up at that, choking on the mouthful of blood he'd just swigged. "_What?_" He slammed his mug onto the coffee table and wiped off his chin. "That's a load of poppycock, innit?"

Buffy was wearing the biggest grin in the history of the world. "That will be so incredibly cool," she said. "'Cause I've been worried about the whole 'pain' part of that."

"So happy to be of service," Spike mumbled.

In the midst of the subsequent glaring competition, both winced and rubbed their chests. 

"Did I mention the heartburn?" Buffy asked.

Giles noticed that the vampire's actions were merely a fraction behind the Slayer's and marveled at their symmetry. From a Watcher's perspective, it was downright enthralling. He should have been involved sooner. Dratted inbred English stubbornness.

"Good thing Nipper's one of us, eh? Makes it worth the trouble." Spike sprawled back into the sofa cushions and let out an enormous belch. "There you go, love. Cures what ails you." He proudly patted the taut planes of his exposed stomach.

Buffy just smiled. "You don't _have_ to keep calling him Nipper, you know. He has a name now."

"He does?" The baby's name had been a hotly debated topic for the entire length of the pregnancy. Giles was surprised they'd reached a settlement this early.

"Uh huh! Go us!" Buffy cheered, pumping a fist in the air.

"Seth Jameson Grey," Spike supplied, watching the Slayer with an amused expression.

"Seth?" the Watcher repeated. "A biblical name?"

"'S wrong with that?" Spike demanded. "Means 'appointed one'. Sort of another 'chosen' in the family." He drew a deep breath and quoted, "'...A perfect man, and his likeness was the express likeness of his father, insomuch that he seemed to like unto his father in all things.'"

"Hey, you didn't tell me that part!" Buffy protested. She gave her belly an apologetic pat, speaking directly to it. "God, I am so sorry. I hope I haven't cursed you." 

"Ha bloody ha." Spike's smile softened the sarcasm in his voice.

She leant toward Giles. "That's just the Hebrew meaning anyway," she confided. "It means 'bridge' in Sanskrit."

Giles could feel his throat tightening up. "B-bridge?" he stammered.

"Which is another word for link, so it's an all-round multi-purpose kind of name."

The Watcher was reeling. All his wild speculations were rapidly becoming fact. It was incomprehensible.

"Oh, plus," Buffy continued. "George Clooney."

"Pardon?" Wasn't that the name of an actor?

"George Cloo-ney," she repeated slowly, over-stressing the vowels. "'From Dusk 'Til Dawn'?" When that drew no response, she shot a fretful glance at Spike who rolled his eyes at the Watcher's ignorance.

"It's a vampire flick, you daft git. Seth Gecko was his character's name. Right bastard, sure, but he kicked a significant amount of demon ass."

"Fascinating." Giles pursed his lips, unsure of what to say next.

Spike squinted at him curiously. "What's goin' on in that almighty brain of yours, Rupert? I can hear your synapses poppin'."

Buffy pulled her disgusted face. "That's gross, honey."

He gave her an odd look. "Yeah, I just got the visual from you. Don't ever think that at me again."

Giles glanced back and forth between the two and wished that he'd taken another seat. Being in the middle like this was comparable to being a tennis umpire. If he didn't move soon, the incessant Ping-Pong of their banter would undoubtedly give him a headache.

"Your wish is my command, oh Master Vampire," Buffy jeered. "Anything else while I'm becking your call?"

"You realize that made absolutely no sense?" Spike sought the Watcher's advocacy. "Did it?"

"Don't drag him into this!"

"Why not? Bit o' masculine solidarity wouldn't go astray. Don't often get it in this house."

"Oh, sure. Gang up on the pregnant lady. Real heroic." She was becoming flushed now, her cheeks tinged with pink. 

"Hey, watch your pressure, sunshine." Spike immediately switched into attentive partner mode and was crouched at Buffy's side before Giles could even blink. "Ease off. That's my girl."

They sat there for a few minutes, eyes closed, hands clasped together, breathing in total synchrony. In - out, in - out, in - out...

After a while Spike smiled and brought Buffy's hand up to brush a kiss across her knuckles. "You're gonna kill us one of these days," he said.

"Me? You're the one who keeps being such a smart-ass. You know I just want to smack you when you're like that."

"Well, at least we're consistent, love. It's never once been any different."

"I'm so gonna kick your ass when I'm back in shape," she informed him peevishly.

Giles really felt like a fifth wheel at this point. He doubted if they even remembered he was in the room. That conviction was abruptly discarded when they both turned to look at him at the same time.

"Where was I?" Spike asked.

"Popping synapses," Giles supplied dryly. 

The vampire scowled at him. "So, you gonna spit it out or what?"

"It's just that, I've been going over recent events and it occurred to me that I should have seen it earlier - your coming together that is."

"How?" Buffy asked. "We sure as hell didn't."

"Speak for yourself." Spike sniffed and got to his feet. 

He didn't return to the sofa, but stood behind Buffy's chair and rested his hands on her shoulders. Buffy placed her own right hand over his left, as if to keep him from moving away. Not that he would.

Giles disregarded the comment. "Everything points to your union being destined. It even harks back to Spike being in the Master's line. Did you know that 'Aurelius' literally means 'golden one'? It _could_ have been pertaining to him all along." He flipped back a few pages in his notebook. "And the Gemel Prophecy notwithstanding, I've reviewed several entries in the Watcher's Journals regarding a vampire with a soul. We've always thought that they referred to Angel alone, but now that we know Spike has always had part of his..."

"Is this waffling gonna get to a point anytime soon?" Spike interrupted. "I've got places to be."

Buffy tipped her chin. "You want I should stay here?" she asked him. "You can monitor the Watcher-speak through me while you're being Errand Boy. It's called multi-tasking, honey, embrace it."

"Brill." Spike leant down and gave Buffy an impassioned kiss that lingered far longer than was polite. He drew back, threw a condescending smirk at Giles, just because, then disappeared upstairs. 

The Slayer watched his retreating form with starry eyes and a dreamy smile. She visibly shook herself out of her daze and peered at her Watcher. "Oh, um, soul?" she prompted.

Giles was too distracted by what he'd just heard. "He can monitor your conversations from afar?"

"Old news," she scoffed. "And mutual, too. He can't make a move without me knowing where he is and what he's doing. Or who."

"How very ... stifling." Giles scribbled something illegible in his notebook. "Where is he going anyway? I can't believe that it's more important than..."

Spike bounded back down the stairs, leaping nimbly over the banister to land with a thud in the foyer. He'd buttoned the shirt and pulled on his scuffed combat boots.

"I'm off," he announced. "Anything else while I'm out?" Buffy merely arched an eyebrow and he nodded. "Right. Later." He snagged his duster off the hook and jabbed a commanding finger at her. "Don't go anywhere." Then he slammed out the front door and was gone.

The house suddenly seemed very empty. 

Buffy shifted, a frown creasing her forehead. "How bizarre is it that I miss him already?" She shrugged and focused back on the conversation. "He's going to the baby store down town. Now we've decided on a name he wants to have it pinned on the nursery door."

"You have a nursery?"

"Well, sure. Spike decorated it himself." Her lips curled and she adopted a hideous British accent. "'Don't want any of that bloody Nancy boy frippery in my boy's room'. That's a direct quote if you couldn't tell." She widened her eyes excitedly. "Wanna see?" She didn't wait for an answer, but extricated herself from her chair and headed for the stairs.

Giles had little choice but to trail along after her. As they reached the top, he couldn't resist peeping through the open doorway of the master bedroom, the one that had previously belonged to Joyce Summers and was now the domain of the expectant couple. He recoiled, taken aback by the profusion of mirrors.

Buffy let out a snort at his elbow. "I know," she said. "It should be opened up as a funhouse or something. We could probably charge the neighborhood kids admission."

"Why -?"

"Ever since he realized he could see himself again, he's gotten all obsessive about it. Vanity thy name is Spike." She shook her head, glossy curls bouncing. "Just means I get to see the mammoth mommy gut from every imaginable angle. Not pretty." She pulled him into the next room and gestured grandly. "Welcome to Nipper-land."

Giles scanned the room with some amazement. Spike had done this?

A polished-to-gleaming wooden crib had been set up in one corner, offset by an antique rocking chair in the other. Other than those basic items it didn't resemble a traditional nursery in the slightest - no soft pastels or cutesy animal motifs for this child.

Three of the walls were a stark clinical white. The fourth, adjacent to the crib, was painted a startlingly bright blue. The color seemed familiar and it took Giles a moment to place it.

"Spike's eyes are the same shade as the wall," he observed.

"No." Buffy corrected, a tender smile playing about her mouth. "The wall is the same as Spike's eyes."

"Mmm." Giles didn't acknowledge the nauseating sentimentality of the statement, but continued with his perusal.

There was a noticeable lack of harsh florescent lighting, but two rows of downlights situated along the ceiling cast a soft, unobtrusive radiance against the walls. The throw rug was a particularly vivid red, the same color as the frames on the prints adorning the walls. 

He shuffled across to look at them more closely. 

Abstract Expressionism - Jackson Pollock, no less. 'Number 22, 1949' and several others from same era whose titles he couldn't recall. They were, however, some of his more restless works and an unlikely choice for a child's room. But then Giles had long ago given up on the vampire doing anything resembling normal.

"It's rather, uh... unusual," he said finally.

"You have polite face," Buffy commented, amused. "I get that it's not your everyday sort of kiddy-chic, but it's tailor-made for Seth. Trust me."

Giles nodded and peered at her from the corner of his eye. "Have you given any more consideration to the idea of marriage?"

Buffy's face contorted in an involuntary grimace. Certainly not the reaction he had been expecting.

"We did kinda _talk_ about it," she confessed grudgingly. "In the snippy argument definition of the word, and it wouldn't work."

Giles arched a brow at her tone. She sounded so final, and also rather like she was reciting a well-prepared speech. He wondered just how opposed Spike was to the idea. He would guess not very, if at all.

Buffy continued on, ignorant of his curiosity. "Besides the whole freaky 'married to Spike' thing, there's the name," she said. "Which I have to say is just wrong. I mean, even when you go the pretentious hyphenated route. Buffy Summers-Grey? Ugh!"

"I wouldn't have thought a name change would be as traumatic as that," Giles remarked carefully. As excuses went, it wasn't very convincing. "Spike has recently altered his, after all."

"Spike didn't so much change his name as do a little add and subtract."

"Oh?" The Watcher in him perked up at that. Snippets of information about a vampire's previous existence were always noteworthy. 

She placed her hand on his forearm, in confiding-a-secret mode. "He likes to keep up the vamp mystique, so don't tell anyone, but his _real_ name, his human name, was William James. We cut that down to 'Liam' and tacked on the 'Grey'. He won't tell me what his actual second name was, but I've got the sneaking suspicion it was Alexander." Buffy smile took on a decidedly evil bent. "I'll make with the stealthy memory-digging and let you know."

"Aha," Giles mused. "So, the 'Jameson' portion of Seth's name is therefore quite literally 'son of James'."

"Yep. See, it's all logical."

"Of course it is. Because you're both such rational people."

She peeked up at him. "Do I detect sarcasm?"

Giles shook his head negatively, then said, "Yes."

Buffy laughed. "I missed this, you know. Just us being us, without all the other stuff."

"Other stuff constituting Spike?"

"No, other stuff constituting the big end-of-the-world evil we're usually dealing with." She rested her back against the doorjamb, a pose that only made her belly seem more prominent. Giles tried not to stare at it. 

"We're not without Spike anyway," she told him. "He's still here. He's always here." Her eyes glazed over for a second before she focused back on her guest. "Actually right now he's standing on the corner of Wilkins and Main, making obscene finger gestures and yelling at some guy in a Jeep, but you get what I mean."

Giles was impressed by her innate knowledge of Spike's comings and goings. "That's remarkable!"

"So get your little black book out and make remarks already."

~[*]~

"...Where you can shove that, you filthy wanker!"

Spike's verbal assault dissolved in his throat as he bit back a cry of surprise. One solitary thought popped into his head and began running on a continuous loop.

__

Buffy's using the link... Buffy... link... Buffy, Buffy, Buffy...

The vampire closed his eyes, savoring the feeling, and got a nebulous sense of the color blue and the Slayer's laughter before it faded again. He took a few involuntary steps forward as though to intercept the ephemeral sensation, to keep it within his reach, before reason returned. With it came the suffocating impulse to burst into tears. It almost made him want to heave.

__

Bloody William.

It had been so long since Buffy had initiated any contact that he'd almost forgotten what it was like. The last few months she'd been letting it lay dormant, leaving only the barest of connections between them. Enough to keep him on the mortal plane, enough to share surface thoughts, but not enough to let him into her deeper emotional center. She was keeping things from him and he was too scared to push, lest he pushed her away completely.

He realized that he'd stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and glanced about to see if anyone had noticed, self-consciously wiping any signs of moisture from his eyes.

Only one, it seemed, was astute enough to recognize something amiss, an elderly woman with a noxious cloud of blue-rinsed hair floating above the weathered landscape of her face. She stared at him for a long moment before scurrying away, pushing her over-laden shopping trolley to the edge of the curb to give him a wide berth.

Spike chuckled, her reaction lifting his dark mood. Thank God for comic relief. For a second there he'd almost been brooding.

He knew he still looked the Big Bad. He was a right handsome devil, and the combination of bleached hair, scarred brow and calf-length leather duster gave him an edgy don't-mess-with-me vibe. A sudden desire to reveal his true face sprang to life, an inexplicable need to do a proper job of making the old biddy quail. Muscles rippled under the skin of his face but didn't quite make the full transition to Grr-mode.

"That's right," he purred, eyeing her retreating form. "Keep well away from the bad, rude man. Dangerous I am. Evil."

Spike gazed after her as she rounded the far corner and then shoved his hands into his pockets, grimacing.

The words didn't sound right anymore. He felt like a fraud for uttering them, and like a sad bastard for setting someone's grandmum all a-flutter. He wanted to go and apologize, but stubbornly tamped the urge down.

A staccato tugging at his coattail caught his attention. He growled as he turned, eyes flashing yellow, ready to put the wind up whoever had dared to touch the sacred leather. The growl snagged in his throat.

She was absolutely tiny - tiny and blonde and all of four years old. 

He melted instantly. "Well, hello cutie," he greeted, hunkering down so that he was eye level with the girl. She stared at him with huge round orbs that were almost too big for her sharp face. Sea green, just like Buffy's. "What's a tasty sugarplum like you doin' out here by her lonesome? Where's your Mum?"

"Dunno." The cupid's-bow of her mouth pursed thoughtfully as she regarded him. Spike noted with delight that she had mirrored his head-tilt. "At the store."

"The store?" He gnawed at his cheek, cautiously scanning both sides of the street. Bloody brilliant - nothing _but_ stores in the immediate vicinity. "What kind of store?"

"Dunno," Sugarplum repeated, more interested in studying his face than finding her missing parent. One of her pigtails was askew and she wound the flaxen strands of it around her finger. "Your eyes changed colors," she informed him. "It was pretty. Do it again."

"Not right now, sweet bit." Spike surveyed the street a second time, searching for an anxious-looking mother amid the rank and file. No such luck. What was he supposed to do now? 

"Wish Buffy was here," he muttered, only to realize that in essence, she was. He'd felt her presence only minutes earlier. He opened himself up, letting everything that was in him seek her out...

And hit an emotional brick wall. 

The impact of it knocked Spike on his ass on the pavement. His heartbeat faltered, stopped and then stumbled on again, leaving him gasping for air and clutching at his chest, panic-stricken. Through the roaring in his ears he could hear a woman's concerned voice asking if he was okay and the lost girl explaining to the voice's owner that "the nice man fell down". 

He had a vague perception of Sugarplum being led away and hoped that the concerned-voiced lady was her Mum. He really didn't have the strength or the inclination to go after them. Shock did that to a bloke.

Spike knew what had happened. He remembered the sensation all too well. It didn't seem possible, but for the briefest of moments, a fraction of a second, the link had broken. 

**__**

A/N: Some of you may have noticed that I've added a little quote to the start of this fic. It's kind of a clue as to where I'm headed. I've also changed the rating from humor to drama - there's still gonna be fun stuff, but this is heading into darker territory. I'm writing angst now! No, really. LOL - Dee.


	3. Golden Silence

**__**

EPISODE THREE  
"Golden Silence" 

Willow Rosenberg loved being useful. It gave her life purpose and meaning. That Giles had entrusted her to research these Aftertime Creations cranks made her giddy with pride. Plus, computer time was always of the good and ... and _holy heck would you look at that!_

"Whoo-hoo!" she whooped, bouncing in her seat at the study table. When no one reacted to her outburst she waved a hand in the air and tried again. "Hello, big with the 'whoo-hooing' over here."

"I thought that was just a general enthusiastic sort of 'whoo-hoo'," Anya said. "Because of your research joy. I shouldn't have to differentiate between all your excited noises. That's Tara's job."

Willow ignored the ex-demon and tapped the monitor eagerly. "I just thought you might wanna have a look-see at the Aftertime web page. There's like a Sunnydale thing only..." She trailed off as she began to grasp the enormity of what she was seeing. "...Sorta not."

Giles strolled over, his glasses already in hand waiting to be polished. "Could you be more specific?"

"Umm," Willow vacillated, engrossed by the site's contents. "Well, it's all about the Hellmouth and vampires and stuff, but they're not callingit Sunnydale. It's a 'mythic' world called Eldritch."

Giles hovered at her shoulder, all thought of polishing his glasses forgotten. He put them back in place so that he could read the luminous green writing. "I'm familiar with the word. Derived from the Old English 'aelf-rice' for elf-realm."

"Elf realm?" Tara asked. "Like a land of teeny-weeny magic people?"

"Precisely. Obviously this is where the fairies fit in to the equation."

"I can't understand why I haven't heard about it before," Willow fretted. "'Cause I found like _thousands_ of matches. It's really, really popular. Lord of the Rings popular - in the whole novel-reading nerdy cult following sense, not you know, the totally huge break-all-box-office-records sense." She squinted at the screen. "There's a whole back story and everything. It looks like it's based around the adventures of two Guardians named Falchion and-"

"Annulet," Giles finished for her. He huffed in an 'I should have known' way. "Spike and Buffy."

The redhead stared up at him wide-eyed. "Huh? How'd you get that?"

"During their escapade in Pylea they were players in an ancient prophecy. They were referred to as the Guardians of the Bridge, the Gemel, two halves of a whole unit. A hook and loop, or alternatively, Falchion and Annulet." The Watcher grimaced and straightened. "I was hoping that it was just a one-off," he mumbled. "But it appears that their exploits are legend in a number of different dimensions."

"Like the fairytales here," Anya noted. "You all think they're fake and made up, but every one of those things happened."

"You mean like Snow White and the dwarves and stuff?" Tara was amazed. "They're all real? They actually existed?"

"Oh, absolutely," Anya nodded vigorously. "Of course, a lot of the stories have been cleaned up for the children's market. They're all PG now, without the gratuitous sex and violence." She sighed. "Worse luck."

Willow was still reading. "We're all in here," she said, scrolling through a character archive. "Us Scoobies, I mean. In an otherworldly fairy-type way. You've just got to interpret the names."

"Interpret?" Tara frowned. "They're in a different language?"

"No, they're just weirded up like Spike and Buffy's are. See?" She pivoted the screen around to face her girlfriend. "They've called you Amity."

"As in 'Amityville Horror'?" Anya was genuinely intrigued.

Giles cast an exasperated glance toward the ceiling. "As in peace and good will."

Tara glowed, embarrassed but pleased. "That's really nice."

"It is!" Willow enthused, reaching over and squeezing her hand. "It's perfect for you." A delighted grin lit her face. "I'm Charm."

"You sure are, sweetie. Who else is there?"

"Candor would _have _to be Anya, wouldn't it? 'Cause, you know, appropriate."

"I believe that's called stating the obvious," Giles drawled. He cocked his head to one side, taking in the list of names. "Leal, I'd wager would be Xander. It's a form of the word loyal. The others are a little more difficult to..."

The Watcher was interrupted as the front door was flung open with considerable force, almost knocking the bell off its hook. It made a pitiful clunking noise and then fell silent. 

Spike barged in, his omnipresent duster billowing, the midday sun painting a golden silhouette around his lithe form. He pulled up short and stared at them, one hand still poised on the doorknob, trying hard to appear indifferent to the circle of astonished faces. It didn't work. 

"_What?_" he snapped, cool facade cracking under the pressure. "Still can't fathom Spike in the ultra-violet minus the trusty old security blanket?" He snorted then bowed his head, eyes skittering away to the side, fingers drumming an uneasy rhythm against his thigh. He appeared to be waiting for something.

A second later Buffy trundled in, one arm curved around under her belly. "Holy crap," she groaned, slightly breathless. "Could you stop with the super fantastic vamp speed for two seconds?"

Spike eyed her over his shoulder. "Thought you said you could still keep up."

"I can." She pouted, her voice sounding small and petulant.

"Right." Spike nodded, knowing that he'd proved his point, and swung the door closed behind her. 

She'd have to slow down sooner or later, and he'd rather it be sooner. Last night's patrol had proven just how far off her game she was getting. Poddy and Stretch had almost got a look in. If she'd been on her own... 

He shivered. It didn't bear thinking about.

Buffy was suddenly in his arms, neither of them having any recollection of having moved. "It's okay," she murmured, stroking his back under the heavy fall of his duster. "I won't scare you like that again. Tandem or group patrols only from now on. I won't make a move without you."

He was amazed that she'd managed to pick up that much from him considering the state of their link, but decided to go with it. He could play Joe Normal with the best of them.

"Yeah, you say that now, but I know what goes on in that head o' yours, Slayer." He peered down his nose at her. "You hate the Little Girl Lost routine as much as I do."

"Uh huh, but this isn't so much Little Girl Lost as Big Fat Mama Who Can't Keep Up."

Spike chuckled. "Big Fat Mama? If _I'd_ let that one slip you'd have my head on a platter."

"Bet your skinny white butt, Poetry Boy. With fava beans and a nice Chianti."

He sighed happily and rested his chin on her hair. "Gotta tell you, sunshine, you sure know how to sweet talk a bloke." He cocked his scarred brow over her head at their audience. "You lot got this fairy business sorted yet?"

"Found a major trail of breadcrumbs," Willow told him. She gestured toward the computer. "Check it out, Falchion."

"Fal...?" Spike blinked at her, lost for words. "Where the bloody hell did ya hear that?" He glared at Giles. "Thought we told you to keep all that Pylean rubbish under your hat. To protect Seth."

"I did," Giles glared right back, unconcerned by the vampire's threats. "It seems these Aftertime people are under no such constraints."

"You finally named Nipper?" Willow squeaked, ignoring the remainder of their conversation. This was big news.

"Yeah we did. He shall no longer remain nameless." Buffy gingerly edged along the bench-like stool to sit next to her friend.

Spike perched on the ladder behind her and began tapping his feet against the riser. She could hear him contemplating whether or not he needed new laces for his boots and rolled her eyes in irritation. Sometimes she wished she could just hit an off-switch. Or a mute switch maybe. Yeah, one of those would be perfect...

"Seth's a great name," Willow was babbling. "Kinda religious... Isn't there an actor called Seth? I'm pretty sure he was in the Austin Powers movies. Xander would know, being all Groovy Secret-Agent-Man-ified." She paused, then brightened. "Ooh, Nicolas Cage in 'City of Angels'!"

Spike's head snapped up just in time to catch the Slayer making shushing motions. "Eh? Whassat Red?"

"Nothing," Buffy said benignly. "Go back to your shoe-gazing, honey."

"Don't spout that nonsense at me. I heard what she said, all conveniently hush-hush." He hitched his feet up a rung and leant forward. "You _know_ I hate that movie," he whispered reproachfully.

"It makes him cry," she confided in aside to Willow, who then gaped at him.

"Really?"

"No." He fidgeted uncomfortably under the witch's shrewd gaze. She could probably tell he was lying. "We'll have to change it now, any rate."

"Why?" Buffy pivoted to face him. "There's no way we're gonna come up with anything that fits better."

"Angel-related names were off limits, remember? Didn't want any nasty associations." He scowled at Buffy's somewhat amused countenance. "Look, the talentless prat plays an _angel_, dun' he? Not only that, but he's all po-faced 'n mopey and-" He thrust a self-righteous finger at her as something else came to him. "And he wears a poofy coat."

Buffy arched her brows at him, staring pointedly, and he tugged sheepishly at the lapels of his duster. 

"'S not poofy. 'S leather. Bloody sexy if you ask me. Part of my charm."

"It also used to belong to a girl."

He blinked. "But it's not poofy," he repeated as if that were the most important point.

"Okay, you're right," Buffy conceded reluctantly. "It's cool. It epitomizes coolness."

"Nice to know someone appreciates my fashion sense."

"Not the whole sense. Just the coat." She pursed her lips, eyeing him critically. "And maybe the hair."

Willow suddenly shot back in her seat, whacking Buffy's arm repeatedly in her excitement. "Hey! Hey!"

Spike rubbed irritably at his own arm. "Watch where you're tizzying there, Will. Got some clout for a wee slip of a thing."

"S-sorry. I didn't mean to... I mean, hey!" She pointed at the monitor, practically vibrating in her enthusiasm. "Look what I found in the Links section."

Buffy scanned the microscopic lettering, past such varied names as 'Postcards From Eldritch', 'Myth-Arc Online' and 'The We-Hate-Gladius Network', then leant in for a better view at the bottom of the computer screen. "Does that say 'AI'?"

Giles scowled. "That's Angel's company, is it not?"

Spike lounged backward, resting his elbows on the step behind him. "Well that's just typical of Peaches, innit?"

Buffy didn't even look at him. "Don't say it."

"Wha-?" Spike spread his hands, confounded.

"Angel is not a fairy."

"We're _all _fairies..." Spike began defensively then stopped, horrified by what he'd just said, and hurried to clarify. "...I'd wager. According to those wankers."

"Why do you have to insult every single... They're not wankers."

"Yeah, right." The vampire snorted. "And I'm the sodding Pope." 

He could feel the disapproval coming off the Slayer in waves, but studiously ignored it. As far as he was concerned, he was entitled to a fit of the sulks about the morning's stunning developments; he was most certainly _not brooding_. And if she wanted to pretend nothing had happened, that was just fine with him.

Tara spoke up then, trying as always to be the voice of reason. "Angel wouldn't have anything to do with this. Would he? I mean, I only met him that one time but isn't he a good guy?"

"She's right," Willow admitted. "It's not really his style. Or anyone else's we know." She cast an analytical eye back over the screen. "They sure seem to know us though."

"The connection should be investigated nonetheless." Giles' face was almost an expression-free zone. It often got that way when he was thinking particularly hard. "Someone ought to..."

"Run the LA gauntlet?" Buffy wiggled around on her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position; something that was getting increasingly difficult the more she... _increased_. "I veto on the grounds that it will only lead to much painful cramping and frequent pee stops."

"Happens on patrol bloody often enough," Spike grumbled, sotto voce. "Let alone an hours-long road trip."

Buffy shot him a look of pure venom that he returned with equal animosity, cool blue eyes lit now with shards of yellow. There was a sharp edge to their bickering, an underlying tension that hadn't previously been there. 

Anya was openly staring at the couple. "I don't see it," she said after a moment.

"See what?" Buffy wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to get into whatever Anya had on her mind. Spike was being the über-grouch all of a sudden and she couldn't work out what was wrong with him. It was as distracting as hell, and really starting to piss her off.

"The whole Falchion and Annulet thing," the ex-demon explained. "Now, if they'd called you Sunshine and Honey I might have understood. You call each other that all the time."

The scowl on Giles' face deepened and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Golden," he muttered.

"How's that?" Spike narrowed his eyes, having picked up the Watcher's undertone.

"Sunshine and honey," Giles huffed. "Both can be defined as golden. It's the Aurelius link popping up again."

"Aurelius link?" It was Willow's turn in the Scooby frown-a-thon. "I thought their link was from something called a Serpiente."

"Oh, wait," Tara breathed. "I know what Mr. Giles means. 'Aurelius' is Latin for 'golden one'. A-and look." She read the screen of Willow's computer. "The Guardians are the embodiment of the twin suns and will bring about the golden age."

"Bloody hell, you're not wittering on about that again, are you?" Spike groaned.

"It's important!" Giles defended piously. 

The vampire rolled his eyes, the reaction earning a censuring backslap from Buffy. Luckily he was far enough out of her target range that it hit him harmlessly below the knee.

"Knock it off," she ordered, then shook her head at her Watcher. "You fall for his line of crap every time. He's chain-yanking you, Giles. He's just as interested in all this as you are."

Spike pouted. "Am not. No one should be _that_ interested in the lives of people who aren't them. It's bloody unnatural is what it is."

"I'll tell you what's unnatural, you contemptuous little prat..." 

Giles' outburst was abruptly silenced as the door opened once more. The bell didn't make a sound, not having recovered from Spike's entrance, and Xander paused underneath it, looking up with arched brows.

"You want I should fix that?" he asked. "Unless you like the Zen vibe." He grinned at them. "If a customer walks into a shop and the bell doesn't ring, is the customer really in the shop?"

"Would somebody _please_ knock him out?" Spike implored. "Come on! One good tap. I'll pay cash." 

Xander was about to make what he thought was a pretty good comeback when the vampire suddenly recoiled in pain, collapsing away from the ladder with a hand covering the side of his face. His teeth were clenched so tightly that every vein in his neck stood out in gruesome detail, but most frightening of all was the fact that he didn't make a single sound. Usually there was yelling. Loud yelling - lots of it.

Xander stared, never having seen the chip give Spike this much of a jolt. Had something gone wrong?

Spike staggered to a halt against the counter, doubled over and breathing heavily. He lifted his head and glowered at Buffy with the one eye that wasn't half-closed and bloodshot.

"You burst a vessel, you sodding hellcat. I can't see!"

"Cry baby," she said haughtily, folded arms resting on the swell of her stomach. She wasn't the least bit sympathetic.

Spike gawked at her, floundering for an appropriate reaction. A crimson-stained tear escaped from corner of his damaged right eye, spilling out over the arch of his cheekbone and into the hollow beneath. Some bruising was becoming visible too, ugly purple stains shading the socket. 

"I'm in serious pain here," he informed her. "You're damned lucky I'm not inclined to return the favor."

"Like you could."

"Oh, I _could._" Spike's tone was icy cold now. He wiped at the bloodied tearstain with the back of his hand, peering at the resultant smudge with disgust, then rolled his shoulders, visibly pulling himself together. "I won't. But it's times like this that remind me why I wanted to kill you so much back in the day."

The statement was followed by complete and utter silence. 

Buffy blanched. "God, I can't believe you just said that."

"I didn't mean that I wanted to..."

"Get out." The Slayer's tone was flat.

"Buff..."

"I said 'get out'," her face was stony with determination. "Leave. I don't wanna see you right now."

Spike cast a beseeching look at the Scoobies, but none of them made any attempt to take his side. His chin came up defensively. "Oh, so it's like that is it? Right then, you can sod off, the whole bloody lot of you."

He turned abruptly on his heel and stalked out, not sparing any of them a second glance.

Xander watched the vampire storm by, making sure to stay well out of fang range - chip or no, Spike could be damned scary - and then turned back to the others. 

"What the hell just happened?"

**__**

A/N: A new episode as promised - go me! It's a little shorter than I would have liked, but it just seemed such a great cliff-hangery place to leave it. I'm upping the angst factor, folks. Hang onto your fangs, it's gonna be a bumpy ride!   
- Dee.


	4. Out Of The Loop

**__**

EPISODE FOUR  
"Out of the Loop"

Spike sat on the back steps of the Summers house and regarded the starry sky with a dispassionate gaze. It was a beautiful night, fine and mild with the slightest of breezes, just perfect for patrolling. On a clear night like this you could see the vamps coming for miles, and yet he couldn't find any motivation to get up and do anything about it. He fumbled about in his pocket for a cigarette, methodically lighting up and blowing a stream of smoke into the air. 

__

Ha! Not so clear now, was it?

He cocked his head, scenting another presence. "Hello Rupert."

"Spike." The Watcher lingered in the kitchen doorway for the briefest of seconds, before he closed it behind him and moved to stand on the uppermost step, right next to the dejected vampire. "I'm surprised to see you here."

Spike let out a cheerless snort of laughter. "Got nowhere else to be have I?"

Giles stared down at the bowed head, the crown of pale hair bathed in moonlight. Spike looked very lost and very alone. It was rather disconcerting to see him so vulnerable. "You're smoking," he observed. "You haven't done that for a while."

"Not since I found out about the Nipper." Spike inspected the glowing tip of his cigarette as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen, then sighed resignedly. "Can't say as I missed it." He tossed the half-spent butt out onto the path and watched its arc into oblivion with casual indifference. "I'm losin' her, you know," he said suddenly, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "She's slippin' right through my fingers and I can't do a sodding thing about it."

The Watcher was startled, he hadn't expected that the vampire would confide in him. "Last time I checked that was impossible," he said. "The link is permanent, and the Powers That Be..."

"Don't give two-bloody-hoots about little ol' Spikey and his problems. Semi-souled half-vampires don't rate overly high in their books."

"Good Lord, you really know how to wallow in it, don't you? Angel brooded, but he wasn't a defeatist."

Spike's entire demeanor changed. He glared up at Giles, wintry eyes glinting with hostility, the darkened smudge of bruising around the right one only accentuating the fury within. "So, you'll be takin' her side. Should have figured." He shot to his feet and pointed an accusatory finger at the Watcher. "It's because of you that she's pushin' me away. You and the blasted Scoobies."

"Whatever are you blathering about, Spike? Buffy wouldn't..."

"Oh, wouldn't she?" Spike's brows arced incredulously upward. "Whether you want to admit it or not, you're the sole most important influence in her life now Joyce is gone. The Scoobies run a close second but even they look to you for guidance, they see what you think and they follow. And she knows you've never accepted me, any of you. Spike's not good enough for the precious Slayer, never gonna be good enough..." 

He gritted his teeth, not wanting to travel down that particular route just yet. "But that's not the be-and-end, is it? Main problem behind all this is she's scared, Rupert. She's so bleedin' terrified that she can't think straight. She won't share, but I can feel it in here." He thumped a fist against his breastbone. "It's been festerin' all these months, eatin' away her insides. Now she's given up on the pretense and let it surface."

"Let what surface?" Giles massaged a temple with agitated fingers. "I don't understand."

"The link has been weakening as this pregnancy has gone on," Spike explained. "It was perfect at first, like my own bloody fantasy world come to life. The two of us together, as thick as thieves, peas in a pod... well, you saw. Too good to last, eh?" His head dropped back, eyes closing for a second. His expressive face showed frustration and anger, and shockingly, profound heartbreak. 

"Couple of months ago Buffy started losin' all that extra power she'd got, dwindled away right quick it did, 'til she'd come down to being about as effectual as a fledgling. Had to rely on yours truly for her strength, use the link like she did in Pylea. But then she got distracted and distant, started shutting me out. That whole thing about the Nip bein' alive for example? It's only just now comin' to light, but not once did she ask me about it. Not once."

Giles was growing increasingly concerned. His failures in his duties as Watcher were expanding exponentially as the day wore on. He'd made such a huge cock-up things, holed up in his impenetrable fortress of moral high-ground, wrapped in a cloak of prejudice and loathing, and they had been struggling through on their own. Struggling and failing. He found himself feeling sorry for the anguished vampire, feeling an urgent need to apologize, to offer atonement for his faults. 

"But you appear to be so deeply connected..."

"'Appear' being the operative word there, Rupes. Most of it's front, Buffy puttin' on her big brave Slayer face for the adoring masses." Spike slouched against the porch railing and cast a furtive glance at the door as if he expected Buffy to come charging out any second, weapon in hand. "There's occasional flashes of the old link magic, but not nearly as powerful as before." He jammed his hands in his pockets and inspected his feet, scuffing one absently against the top riser. "Best I can figure is that the link's not permanent at all. We've all been played."

"What possible reason could there be for -?"

"To get the Slayer up the duff. They needed me human for that, and now the stork drop is imminent, I'm expendable. Sever the link and let Spike drift off in a cloud of dust."

Giles stared. "That is utter bollocks."

"Is it?" Spike's chin lifted a fraction. "Think about it. What happened the last time someone yanked out the link's power cord?" He watched enlightenment dawn on the Watcher's face and nodded. "That's right. I almost died - _again_. If Red hadn't busted up your little party, I'd've been a decorative layer of powder in my bloody Sire's boudoir. The thing is there's no magical antidote this time 'cause it's happening all on it's own." 

Giles shook his head, unable to accept what the vampire was telling him. "No. This match was predestined I've no doubt of that. I've had the opportunity to observe you both over the years, and as much as it pains me to admit it, you're a far superior force when you're together. You complement and balance each other, test each other's boundaries, expand each other's horizons. One is not whole without the other. And she does love you, more than I think even she realizes. Losing you would destroy her."

Spike matched the Watcher's stare, though his was shaded with a hint of wonder. "Well, there's somethin' I never expected to hear. 'Specially from you."

"I may be a stubborn old git, but I'm not blind," Giles retorted dryly. "Not this time. Buffy has always been reticent about expressing her emotions, but that's because she feels them so very intensely." He gave the vampire a rueful glance. "But I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, am I?"

Spike waved a dismissive hand. "Don't let that stop you. I need all the help I can get." He squinted at the Watcher suspiciously. "You are helping?"

Giles twitched. He hadn't thought of it that way. "Apparently." He leant against the opposite rail, mirroring the vampire's pose, and eyed him appraisingly. "You don't believe you're worthy of her either," he said incisively. "Do you?" 

As Spike gaped at him, astonished by his perceptiveness, Giles was struck with a curious impulse to cry, '_A hit, a palpable hit!'_ The vampire's clear blue gaze was raw and unguarded, exposing a raggedy patchwork soul that was far more fragile than any of them had suspected, but then he blinked the protective shutters back into place. Nevertheless he remained as candid as always. "No I don't."

He scavenged about for another cigarette, not so much for the nicotine fix as for something to occupy his hands. His inherent restlessness had been kept in check up to now by frequent physical contact with Buffy. He'd spend hours playing with her hair or mapping the texture of her skin. That avenue wasn't exactly open at the moment so he'd picked up his old habit and then some, he'd almost gone through an entire pack since that morning.

"Know what I did downtown today?" he asked conversationally, as though they were two average geezers having a pint at the local. He lit up and took a deep drag, watching the smoke drift away into the darkness. "Scared the hell out of some unfortunate old bird just by looking at her."

Giles shrugged. "Most people do find your appearance rather odd."

Spike scowled at him, but otherwise ignored the slur. "You're not gettin' the point. I nearly went game face on a member of the blue-rinse set and I _enjoyed_ it. What does that say about me?"

"Forgive me, Spike, but you are still a vampire. I'd be worried if the demon in you didn't enjoy that sort of thing." He smiled nostalgically. "I seem to remember doing something similar when under the influence. It was almost worthwhile being turned into a Fyarl demon just to terrorize that dreadful Walsh woman."

"Hello? I _was_ there." Spike rolled his eyes. "But jollies aside, what kind of example is that to be setting? I love the Nip, but I'm going to make a horrible Dad. I know it. You know it. They'll both be better off without me."

Giles straightened as the vampire's ramblings began to come together in his head. "Oh for the love of... This is why you are so disinterested in the prophecies, isn't it? You don't think they apply to you."

"I said it before when all this rot first came up. I'm not cut out for the Guardian business."

"And I'd say you were spouting utter bollocks, but I'd just be repeating myself," Giles muttered. 

Spike flicked his still-burning cigarette at the Watcher. It bounced off his tweedy sleeve and onto the porch. As it was being crushed out, he scrutinized this erudite man who was by all intents his father-in-law; carefully sizing him up, weighing the chances that what he said next would get him slain. _Deep breath and out with it..._

"Want to know the real kicker?" he asked. "My chip's not working."

Giles had the grace to look somewhat alarmed by the announcement. "It ... uh, a-are you certain?"

"Whatever Buffy did with the whole zap-tastic blinding thing? Busted more than just a vessel. I think it shorted out. Hasn't given me a lick o' trouble since."

"You've _tested_ it?"

"Couple of times." Off Giles' apprehensive look, he waved a conciliatory hand. "Relax, they were criminal sorts and I only roughed 'em up a bit, some surface bruising and the like. I haven't fed on anyone for a good long while and I don't plan to start up again." He snorted at the irony. "Buffy wouldn't like it."

"Does she know about this?" Giles was shaking his head even as he asked the question. "Of course she knows. The link."

"What link? I told you. That's not working proper either. Cut off completely this mornin' right after she contacted me."

"You mean-?"

"Went down in a great heap of undead Spike-meat. Could've exploded into cinders and not felt a sodding thing."

Giles made a face at the imagery, but was more concerned about the recent turn of events. "I was right here in the house and she didn't say a word."

"Probably didn't even realize what had happened. A tad self-centered these days is the Slayer." Spike smiled tightly, pulling out yet another cigarette and tapping the filter against the cardboard packet. "Actually, more like Nip-centered. Everything revolves 'round the little bloke. I'm out of the loop." 

The Watcher, who had been observing his actions with a preoccupied air, reached over and deftly snatched the pack from his grasp. 

Spike lunged after him, growling. "Oi! Give 'em over, you thieving wanker. I can hurt you now, you know."

"I also know that you won't." Giles stood his ground, his features stoic, and slipped the spoils into his pocket. Judging by the weight, Spike had stashed his lighter inside the pack, too. "The chip wasn't the only restriction placed on your demon. You have a soul."

"Do not," Spike scoffed, backing off and tucking the stray cigarette behind his ear. "Have William's antiquated Victorian morals, is all. Don't be calling it what it isn't, 'specially without Buffy to close the circuit."

Giles frowned, not having considered that. With the link acting up for whatever reason - he wasn't convinced that Spike's theory was correct on that score - the full soul was not active, and the vampire was only retaining the emotional core of his vital spirit. But then, that had been enough of a deterrent thus far... _with the chip's help_. Oh dear. He had a sudden urge to polish his glasses.

"Stumped you, did I?" Spike inquired smartly.

"Stop being such an obtuse prat."

The blonde vampire morphed and sneered, distorted upper lip exposing his fangs. "Obtuse isn't a problem, mate. All sharp and pointy on this end."

"You're deliberately trying to annoy me, aren't you?"

"Is it working?" Spike tipped his head, his human features sliding effortlessly back into place. It was almost as though he couldn't hold the other for any length of time, a false face that he'd long ago given up hiding behind.

"I've survived years of provocation by individuals infinitely more troublesome that you."

"The Harris whelp?"

"Among others."

Spike grinned. "You mean Buffy."

"Yes, well ... she can be quite, uh..."

"She's a firecracker, that'un. Don't know how you kept her in line all that time." 

The sappy grin on his face was a sketch in absolute adoration, and if Giles had been harboring any doubts about Spike's feelings that expression alone would have changed his mind. Not that the vampire had ever been reluctant about sharing; he wore his emotions like a badge of honor, his heart on his sleeve. It was quite glaringly obvious that Spike worshipped the ground his Slayer walked on. Buffy's feelings were more of a mystery however. She loved him, yes, but was that enough?

"I learned early on that it was best to allow Buffy the freedom to make her own choices, no matter how... ill-advised."

Spike let out a delighted giggle, a sound that was both incongruous and disturbing. "Ever the polite one, eh?" He collapsed bonelessly back into position on the steps. "You love her too."

Giles sat down beside this bizarre, unpredictable creature that had miraculously become family and allowed himself a moment to reflect. "I'd dare say it's impossible not to."

"Bloody sadistic lot those Powers," Spike asserted, nodding. He tugged the cigarette out from behind his ear and twirled it between his fingers.

"I doubt they had much to do with it. Whom one chooses to love is a matter of free will."

"No such animal. Any rate, already got the prophecy laid out for us didn't we?"

Giles pursed his lips. _Gotcha!_ "I thought those didn't apply to you," he said carefully.

The incessant twirling came to a halt and Spike glared at him from the corner of his eye. When he spoke, though, his tone was more affectionate than malicious. "Sometimes I really hate you."

"Only sometimes? I find that rather disappointing." 

Giles retrieved the cigarettes from his pocket, flipped the top and offered them back to the vampire. Spike's silver lighter sat inside, surrounded by a handful of crumpled smokes, a silent peace offering.

Spike took it, but then shook his head and squirreled it away. "Best not, eh?" He stared back out at the night, contemplative now. "So, what'd you have to say to the Slayer 's'mornin' anyway?" he asked. "Never did catch the conversation."

"It was essentially a recapping of the information you already had about the Pylean prophecies. The major points I had to make were about the child."

The Watcher found himself pinned to the porch railing with an inhumanly powerful and unrelenting hand clamped around his throat and only the ghostly stirring of the air to indicate that Spike had even moved. 

"You want to try that again with a little less indifference? That's my son you're talkin' about." 

A meaningful squeeze of the fingers, tight enough to set off tiny panicked explosions behind Giles' eyes, and then the vampire was sitting back on his side of the steps as though nothing had happened.

Giles spluttered a while, his throat working but no sound coming out. He turned a particularly entertaining maroon shade before finally regaining his composure. The glasses came off immediately afterward.

"S-sorry," he whispered, polishing the lenses intently, not looking in Spike's direction. "Terribly, terribly sorry. I understand your reaction, of course." He swallowed painfully. "It's simply that from my standpoint Seth has remained firmly in the abstract. He is not yet real to me."

"Oh, he's real. So real that I..." Spike exhaled heavily, his posture hunchbacked and tense. His fingers flexed spasmodically, reliving the sensation of having the Watcher's life in his hands. Once again, he was troubled by his brief enjoyment of it. "Apologies for the throttling." He, too, avoided looking in the other's direction. "Gonna have an imprint there for a time. Marked you but good."

"Yes, well." Giles rubbed at a throat that was indeed showing an angry red handprint, the thumb on one side of his Adam's apple and a neat four-fingered row on the other. "As I said..."

"Yeah, as you said. What of Seth then?"

"There are a few things. For one, his name worries me."

Spike's head came up at that and he fixed the Watcher with baffled eyes. "His name? This is about his bloody _name_? Only decided on last night and now it's interferin' with his future?"

"I realize it's difficult to take in, but the _meaning_ of it, Spike. You can't tell me you haven't noticed the correlation to the prophecies. That entire 'Guardian thing' that you are so dismissive of?"

"Hadn't occurred actually. To either of us." Spike's brows furrowed over eyes gone stormcloud dark. "God damn it!" He suddenly launched up and out, and into a bout of pacing, his booted stride taking him in a tight loop back and forth in front of the stairs.

"We didn't want this," he stressed, crude London accent almost obscured by the strength of his emotions. "Wanted something for the Nip that didn't involve prophecies and vamps and big lumpy demons that want to destroy the world. I figured he'd be more likely to get that if I wasn't in the picture, but this brings up a whole other..." 

He trailed off, his body folding in on itself, hands fisting into the whitened hair of his temples and pulling at it in frustration. "_Aargh!_ Buggering _Christ_, does nothing in this town ever go right?"

"In my experience, no." Giles winced sympathetically, both for the vampire's obvious torment and the damage he was inflicting on himself. It was rather painful to watch. "Realistically, Spike, you know that you can't shield the boy. He is destined to be special, unique. You're a vampire. Buffy is the Slayer. You live on a Hellmouth. How can any of that be perceived as normal?"

Spike gazed at him pityingly, as though the Watcher was being particularly naive. "You ever had this conversation with Buffy?"

Giles balked at the turn in topic. _When had this become about him?_ "I beg your pardon?"

"Have you ever sat down with the girl and pointed all that out, or have you just let her make her own assumptions? 'Cause she thinks that's how it should be, you know. Family ties, tight-knit set of pals, and a boring cardboard cutout for a boyfriend." He was warming up to his subject now, arms waving animatedly. "She can't consort with the enemy, be with someone who might actually be up to the challenge. Heavens no, that's not normal. _Normal_." He spat the word like it was poison. "Like being the same as every other household in the country is something to aspire to - average job, white picket fence. She figures Seth's a great step on the way to that. Me, I'm... not."

"The very antithesis of normal," Giles supplied meditatively. 

"Well, yeah. Startin' to see it now, aren't you. You've seen the signs."

"Basically what you're saying is that Buffy is using her friends, including myself, as an excuse to push you away?"

"Double points for the Watcher! He advances to the bonus round!"

Giles ignored the sarcasm. "Tell me, how does this fit with your theory about the Powers?"

"They were in on the Nip's inception, I know that much. The rest is her doing. And yours." Spike stopped in front of the other man, his very proximity forcing him to look up. "So, what you're gonna do _now_ is fill me in on what the lover wiccans unearthed about this AI rot, and then I'm volunteering for the LA jaunt. Buffy needs... a bit of perspective maybe, distance. Could make the heart fonder if she dun't kill me in the meantime." 

He stared intently at the Watcher. "I can't fix this, Rupert," he said soberly. "She won't let me close enough to try. I'm trusting she won't do the same to you."

~[*]~

Spike leant against the frame of the open kitchen door, early morning sunshine spilling past him onto the tiles, and hooked his thumbs into his belt. 

"I'm skippin' town for a bit," he said, attempting to make light of the announcement. _Like his heart wasn't damn near shattering in his chest._

"I know." Buffy kept her back to him, her spine ramrod straight, shoulders squared and defensive. "I was kinda worried when you didn't come home last night. Then I sensed you with Giles, getting the lowdown on the fairy sitch."

"Allowed yourself a peek, did you? Don't knock yourself out on my account."

She sighed and rested her hands flat against the breakfast bar as if for support. "How did we get here, Spike?"

He shrugged, wanting desperately to go and comfort her and hating himself for the weakness. "Dunno, pet. Everything was blood and peaches for a bit 'n then it all went pear-shaped."

Buffy snorted and peered at him over her shoulder. "What's with all the fruity metaphors?"

Spike managed a rueful smile. "Found it's best to stick to a theme when you're unsure of yourself. Don't want any mixed messages."

"I'll miss you." She turned to look at him then, and his eyes were drawn immediately to the curve of her belly. She seemed to have grown bigger overnight. "_We'll_ miss you."

He tipped his head to one side. "Will you, now? Won't be 'out of sight, out of mind' then? You'll keep us in touch?"

Buffy held out her hand. After a slight hesitation he took it in his own and allowed her to draw him in. She stared at their entwined fingers for a minute, then gazed up into his eyes. 

"I love you," she said. Her voice was soft and deadly serious. She didn't want to mess this up anymore than it already was. "I really, really love you."

"Yeah, I love you, too. Doesn't seem to help, does it?"

**__**

A/N: For those who were wondering... [i.e. gyrlfrend] When I started this story I had to develop a little AU history. To that end, sometime during that amorphous period between Seasons 4 and 5, a number of significant things happened. Firstly, Riley left. I don't know why, I don't care, I just wanted him gone. Secondly, Joyce died (accident, aneurysm, you be the judge). It was also during this period, helping Buffy through her grief, that Spike realized how he felt about her, setting in motion the events of 'Shades of Grey'. These historical events will be mentioned in passing by different characters, but I won't be going into any great detail about them. Hope that clears things up. Dee.


	5. Strategic Retreat

**__**

A/N: O-Kaaay... Judging by the last batch of reviews, I seem to have alienated some readers with the direction I've taken in this installment of the trilogy. I realize that I haven't done anything this angsty before, but I'm really, **really** proud of my writing in this and it bums me out that you guys aren't happy. Please have some faith! You might have noticed from the prequels that I'm not exactly Little Miss Mopeypants. It will get better, I promise, 'cause unlike a certain someone at M.E., who shall remain merely alluded to, I am the Queen of Happy Endings! - Dee.

Oh, and a note for Vision_ - I think it was mentioned in 'Different Light' that Spike has a reflection. And there was the Buffy/Giles Mirrored Bedroom scene back in Episode 2. Hope that answers your question. _**: )**

And now, on with the story...

****

EPISODE FIVE  
"Strategic Retreat"

It was late afternoon by the time Spike was squinting through the paneled glass doors of Angel Investigations, one hand raised to shield his eyes against the waning Los Angeles daylight. 

Business was definitely slow. There was no one about, only the newly demonified cheerleader sitting at her desk behind the reception counter. He noticed that her hair was longer and was devoid of those unattractive blonde bits she'd taken to putting in. It was twisted in a bunch at the back of her head in an attempt to appear capable and efficient. He strongly suspected she was neither.

Cordelia glanced up when the doors swung open, preparing to greet the newest visitor to the Hyperion with professional courtesy. Her face dropped when she recognized him.

"Why are you here?"

"Oh that's charming, that is." Spike swaggered across the tiled floor with a studied nonchalance and rested his weight against the counter. "You greet all your customers that way? No wonder you're so run off your feet." He flicked through the business card display, making sure they were all suitably disordered, and then began tapping the service bell with annoying persistency.

Cordelia hurried over and slapped his hand away. "Stop it! God, you're worse than a bratty kid." 

Spike's eyes instantly lost their playful gleam, darkening slightly and dropping away to stare at the floor. It was like someone had slammed the shutters closed on a sunlit room. 

Cordy frowned at him. _What had she said to hurt his feelings? _She opened her mouth to ask, and then closed it again, puzzled._ And when had she started caring about Spike?_

"He _is_ a bratty kid." 

Angel was making his way down the stairs as he spoke and missed the younger vampire flinching at the casual statement before straightening his shoulders and turning to meet his Sire head on.

"Well then, Happy Father's Day." Spike plunked a battered old shoebox onto the counter.

Cordelia backed away, hands held up. She hadn't noticed that he'd been carrying anything. "Uh, it's not a bomb is it?"

He looked at her like she was profoundly stupid. "Yeah," he drawled sardonically. "It's a bomb. Nasty old Spike came to explode you into teeny fragments. It's what I do, innit? What with being evil n' all."

"You sure that chip's in your head and not on your shoulder?" Cordy asked. "Oversensitive much?"

Angel gave her a sharp, cautioning look, which she grinned at and cheekily poked out her tongue. He struggled to contain an answering grin, folded his arms and indicated the box with a jerk of his chin. "Open it."

"Open it your bloody self," Spike snapped, hopping up to sit on the counter. "What am I, your sodding manservant? A fellow comes all this way," he tapped the lid of the box with one finger, "Bearing gifts no less, and gets nothin' but the third degree for the effort."

"The third degree is standard operating procedure where you're concerned," Angel said, not the least bit surprised that Spike was already getting on his nerves. "Sometimes the fourth and fifth, too."

"And then onto the sharp, pointy objects," Spike nodded reflectively. "I remember the drill. Literally." He glanced over his shoulder at the weapons cabinet. "Nice that you keep 'em close by. Convenient."

"What's in the box, Spike?"

"Ah, so we're skipping the niceties then?" Spike surmised. "Fair enough." He pried the cardboard lid loose and revealed the contents with a dramatic flourish. "_Ta-da!"_

Cordelia peered in, face scrunched up in wary anticipation; Angel leant forward at the same time, resting his arms on the counter.

"Oh my God!"

Spike chuckled, finding the fact that they both spoke simultaneously pretty amusing. Especially since they only had a vague demonic bond to fall back on. _Not like him and Buffy..._

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than there was an excruciatingly painful spasm in his chest, and his heartbeat lurched off into an erratic rhythm that would have done that daft drumming Muppet proud. His hands went numb, the shoebox lid dropping noiselessly to the floor when he could no longer keep his grip on it. 

As before, the attack lasted just a few seconds and Spike bit the inside of his cheek and rode it out. He took a deep breath then, steadying himself, and checked to see if the others had noticed the lapse. Thankfully they hadn't.

Cordy was in hyperactive cheerleader mode, all agog and bouncing on the spot. "Oh my God," she repeated. "These are _so_... Where'd you get these?" She began pulling the collection of LA Gang fairy statuettes from the box with an excitement usually restricted to children on Christmas morning.

"Someone cocked up and the Magic Box got hold of 'em through a new supplier." Spike quirked an eyebrow at them. "Thought you and yours were in on it at first. Their web site has an 'AI' tag attached."

"As if!" Cordelia snorted. "We're not exactly computer literate around here. Angel doesn't even know how to turn ours on." She made kissy-faces at the Angel figurine in her hand. "Do you, baby?"

Angel looked confused as to whether she was addressing him or his porcelain imitation. "Uh... no?"

The figurine itself was relatively unscathed in spite of Spike's sporadic attempts at decapitating it, and was quite obviously the partner to the pint-sized Cordelia. The two pieces slotted together at the base, so that she was posed at his back, clad in a diaphanous gown, a clear crystal ball held in her upraised hands.

"Gladius and Jewel," Spike said.

Angel paused in the midst of tracing a contemplative finger along one of the Cordelia-fairy's wings. "What?"

"We all get fancy names to go with the fairy gig," the blonde vampire explained. "Site reckons we live in some mystic otherworld called Eldritch, and your names are Gladius..."

"Latin for 'sword'," Angel murmured. "It's where the word 'gladiator' comes from."

Spike scowled at him. "Oi! You don't see me stealin' your thunder, do you?" He entertained himself by turning the Angel figurine around so that it appeared to be attacking the Cordelia one instead of defending it. "Mine and Buffy's are like that, too," he told them. 

"What? Trying to kill each other?" Angel knocked his hands out of the way and positioned the figures back the way they were.

"Interlocking, you nit," Spike huffed. "Didn't realize it straight away, but ours join together like that too. Mine at the back of hers."

"Okay, so I get the whole slash-and-hacky sword-boy thing, but why'd they call me Jewel?" Cordelia was frowning at Angel, who remained completely spellbound by her miniature likeness and the revealing ensemble it was wearing. She reached out and pinched the skin of his forearm.

He jerked back, holding the injured limb protectively. "Hey!"

Spike pursed his lips, trying to appear calm when he really wanted to burst into hysterical laughter. He didn't think he could take much more of their happy-couple routine, not while he was feeling so miserable.

"Now, now. Let's keep our focus, children," he admonished. "No time for hanky-panky." He looked speculatively at Cordy. "Accordin' to Red and Glinda's research kick, your name translates to 'jewel of the sea' or some such drivel. Probably also related to being 'precious' or 'valuable'."

Cordelia arched a brow at him. "Was that a compliment?"

"Just statin' facts, kitten." 

She held up two more figurines, one in each hand. "What about these guys?"

The one in the left resembled Wesley, sitting on a toadstool with a stack of books beside him. Despite the suggestion of academic pursuits, he was in the process of arming a bow and arrow. 

The figure in her right hand was undoubtedly Gunn. He was depicted as a sentry, with his feet splayed and both hands resting on the haft of a double-sided axe. As with all the others, they each had medieval-style clothing, pointed ears and delicately sculpted wings.

Spike canted his head, struck anew by the fairies' uncanny similarity to their human, and inhuman, counterparts. "Watcher Boy and the hoodlum?" He shrugged. "Pretty self-explanatory really. 'Vigil' and 'Gallant'."

Their attentions centered on the remaining statuettes. Fred, sitting cross-legged with a butterfly in one hand and a flower in the other, balancing them like a set of scales; and Drusilla in a long white dress, dancing with an unseen partner, her ethereal face turned skyward.

Spike sighed and looked at his hands. The image of Dru disturbed him on a level he didn't like to think about. "'Felicity' and 'Nebula'," he supplied softly.

"So what are they doing here?" Angel asked. "As in existing in the first place."

"Brings us to the reason I came." Spike yanked a crumpled scrap of paper from his duster pocket and waved it at them. "Got an address needs checking out."

~[*]~

"Well, well. What have we here?" 

As Spike peered down at the warehouse floor the smirk on his face intensified and twisted, cheeks hollowing, creases bracketing his mouth. He tipped his head and ran his tongue contemplatively across the blunt line of his teeth. Angel had never seen him look more evil, and he was still in human form. 

"What?" he asked suspiciously. That expression didn't bode well for any of them.

"Always comes down to family, dunnit?"

The younger vampire's reply couldn't have been more cryptic. Angel frowned at him. "If you don't start explaining yourself soon..."

"You'll what? Stake me?" Spike seemed intrigued by the possibility. "Might actually work these days you know."

"No, I _don't _know." Angel was grappling with his frustration and trying _very_ hard not to strangle his Childe. "You haven't been forthcoming with any details. Yet." 

"How 'bout a hint then?" Spike pointed at the largest of the Keratos demons assembled below them. "The immense lumpy one in charge, with the ever so attractive olive complexion? That one's female."

"So?"

"So? I know her. It's Apollyon's missus." There was no response from the other vampire. "The not-so-little woman? Trouble 'n strife, ball 'n chain, old lady? 'Er indoors? Any of this ringin' a bell?"

"His wife or mate or whatever."

"Now you're gettin' it!" Spike clapped his Sire's shoulder. "Name's Idylla."

"Idylla," Angel repeated blankly. "Isn't that Greek for 'perfect' or something?" He pulled a doubtful face. "Odd name for a demon, especially one who looks like that."

"Yes, but not the point." Spike paused for a moment, waiting to see if Angel caught on. When he obviously didn't, he let out a disgusted sigh. "Apollyon and Idylla, you great nonce. AI."

"AI." Angel did the inane repeating thing again. "Like Angel Investigations." His brows raised in comprehension. "Like the tag on the website."

"Hoo-bloody-ray!" 

The blonde was so vocal in his celebration that Angel instinctively slapped a hand over his mouth, only to yank it back the second he realized what he had done.

Spike glared at him, but it was the deeper emotion lurking behind the deceptively soft blue of his irises that made Angel catch an unneeded breath. 

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded. It was almost like Spike wanted to get caught.

"Other than idiotic old vampires tryin' to suffocate me, not a sodding thing."

"I don't buy that Spike." Angel shifted his weight on the catwalk, wincing when it noisily protested the movement. "Why'd you come all the way out to LA for this? Why aren't you with Buffy?"

Spike ignored that line of questioning completely, and that worried Angel more than any snarky comment he could have made.

The younger vamp crept to the end of the scaffolding, dropped onto the adjacent stairway, and disappeared seamlessly into the shadows. His elder was impressed. That level of stealth was difficult to achieve at the best of times, it had to be even harder when you had hair that shone like a beacon even in the dimmest of lights...

Spike popped back into sight, his eyes like dark pits burnt into the pale canvas of his face. "You comin' or what?"

Angel glanced back at the Keratos assembly line, busily packing the all-too-familiar fairy statuettes into crates, and was struck with the sudden conviction that something bigger was happening here - something much, much bigger. He shrugged, trying to shake the uneasy feeling, and then followed Spike out of the building.

They walked back through the industrial park toward Angel's car, arguing the whole way.

"Damn rare having a great flock of Keratos all in one place like that," Spike mused aloud. "Can't be on the up and up."

"So why would Apollyon and his wife be doing this?" Angel asked him.

"Why else but merry bushels of cash, or did you miss the whole 'mercenary' part of his job description?" Spike's voice dripped with sarcasm. "And hello? I knew them when I was _evil_."

"You're still evil," Angel muttered, wondering once again how Buffy put up with him. "Anyway, I thought he worked for the Powers."

Spike managed to shrug and tuck a freshly lit cigarette into the corner of his mouth without breaking stride. "You tryin' to tell me they're the good guys now?" he sneered. "Please! There's not one thing in creation that's all good or all bad, not a single solitary one. Though I got to admit Angelus came pretty damn close."

Angel came to a dead stop and glared at him.

Spike turned, spreading his arms in supplication. "What? Can't take a joke? At least you had a sense of humor back then." He whirled and continued on his way, the duster swinging behind him a virtual red flag in Angel's face.

"I have a sense of humor," he stated firmly.

Spike just graced him with the most skeptical look in his repertoire and kept moving.

"I _do_. I think a lot of stuff is funny..."

The younger vampire was so busy rolling his eyes at his Sire that he failed to see the lamppost directly in his path and smacked straight into it, the impact knocking him backward onto the ground.

Angel smirked. "That, for example."

~[*]~

__

Ouch. Buffy winced and sat up a bit straighter at the Magic Box's study table, fingertips gingerly probing the side of her head. A good-sized goose egg was developing just above her left ear.

"Stupid vampire," she muttered irritably.

~[*]~

Spike sighed, glad that he still had the breath to do it. He was on edge all the time now, waiting for the link to cut off, just waiting, and the despair about Buffy's attitude was giving way to a mordant hostility. 

"I heard that, you bitch," he growled.

Angel blinked down at him, confused. "Bitch?"

Spike looked up. "I wasn't talking to you. But if the title fits..."

Angel reached out and grabbed Spike by his shirtfront, hauling him upright and slamming him bodily into the post behind; forgetting in the heat of the moment that his actions may have been affecting the very person he was trying to protect.

"Why are you suddenly calling Buffy names again?" he demanded. "You haven't done that since..." His eyes narrowed into suspicious slits and he leaned forward, one large fist twisting the fabric of Spike's shirt into a knot. He stuck out his chin. "If you've hurt her..."

Spike struggled violently, trying to gain enough leverage to shove Angel away. The larger vampire eventually moved a fraction, allowing him to wriggle free and spring back out of reach.

"Why doesn't anyone ever ask if _she's_ hurt _me_?" Spike's voice was thick, anger and desperation battling for supremacy. "'S not like she's some fluttering defenseless..." He tugged at his shirt, trying to straighten where it had been wrenched out of shape. "Bloody hell, this was Buffy's... favorite..." 

He trailed off, and to Angel's horror, began to cry; narrow shoulders shaking with the intensity of his sobs, tears streaking down the diamond-cut planes of his face.

Angel watched helplessly as Spike fell apart before his eyes; collapsing like he couldn't hold himself up anymore, and curling into a tight ball of misery with both arms wound protectively over his head. He rocked back and forth, blubbering inarticulately, lean fingers clawing into the white curls at the nape of his neck.

"Spike...?" Angel took a hesitant step forward, torn between exasperation and fear. Fear won. "Spike, what the hell is the matter with you?"

"They hate me," the younger vamp choked out. "They all hate me."

"What?"

"Rupert thinks I'm wrong, but I'm not," Spike mumbled. He tipped his head, peering up with one watery blue eye, a pale hand whipping out to snag Angel's coattail. "I don't want to die," he declared in the bleak, weary tones of a man already condemned. "Not now, not for a long time. I wanna see the Nip grow up, wanna see him become a proper man. Teach him stuff."

"You're not going to die." Angel hunkered down to place an awkward hand on his Childe's shoulder, attempting to offer some comfort and marveling at the fact that he even wanted to.

"_I am_!" Spike insisted. "I could go anytime. Had a couple of episodes while I've been here, and they keep getting closer and closer together, and lasting just that bit longer..." He sniffed and wiped at his eyes, trying to pull himself together.

"What are you talking about?" Angel asked. "Episodes of what? Are you sick? Does this have something to do with Buffy?"

Spike let out a demented little giggle at that, plopping onto his backside in the gravel, denim-clad legs sticking straight out in front of him like a big kid. He tapped the toes of his boots together, reinforcing the image. "When _isn't_ it about Buffy, eh? Tell me that." He leant back on his arms and gazed up at the night sky. "Can't see the stars very well from here," he commented offhand. "'S better back home."

"Stop with the star talk," Angel said, easing down beside him. "You sound like Dru."

They sat in silence for a moment; each lost in their own thoughts.

"So, this dying thing," Angel prompted. "Why don't you fill in the blanks for me."

~[*]~

Three balaclava-covered heads popped up one by one along the fence of the warehouse's back lot and peered cautiously over it.

"See!" the smallest of them hissed, nudging his companions aside for a better position. He was a tiny guy, barely able to see over the dented sheet metal. "I told you!"

"Do you have any idea how big this is?" Another, deeper voice, this time from the largest and stockiest of the three. "This is _big_ big, the ultimate biggest and baddest. Those losers at 'Myth-Arc Online' are gonna choke when they hear."

"This is Aftertime Creations?" the third asked, sounding somewhat disappointed. He was as tall as the second speaker was, but thin and weedy. "I thought... I dunno. I thought it'd be swankier or something. Aren't they rolling in profits?"

"They have to keep a low profile, dumbass," Stocky snapped, shoving his skinnier compatriot hard enough that he fell backward out of sight.

"Ow. Hey, no pushing!" Weedy complained.

"Shut up!" Tiny warned. "You tryin' to get us caught or what?"

"They don't really seem to have any security," Stocky commented, suddenly all business. "No guards or dogs." He cast a brief look around, adjusted the rucksack on his back, and then climbed up and over the fence, landing almost noiselessly on the other side. 

Weedy followed close behind. Tiny had a harder time of it, scrambling to get over and then falling in a blustering heap.

"Thanks for the help, you guys," he whined petulantly, getting up and brushing himself off. "It is only because of me that we're here in the first place. You're lucky I shared data."

"Okay, so you can take all the blame when they nail our asses to the wall for trespassing," Stocky shot back. "Jeez, get a grip. We gotta stay frosty." He eyed the other two. "Right?"

They looked warily at each other and then nodded. 

"You're the boss," Weedy said.

Tiny slapped his arm. "He is not! We're in this together, remember? Equals, all three of us, like... like 'the Lone Gunmen'."

"Whatever. _Frohike_."

There was an abbreviated round of childish smacking and a united chorus of, "Ow, stop it!"

"Girls?" Stocky interjected. "When you're done flirting."

They crept around the lot's perimeter, sporadically ducking behind machinery or various piles of junk for cover, and eventually made it to a loading bay.

Stocky gestured for the other two to stay back while he scurried toward the warehouse. Partway there he slowed to a shuffle, and then stopped dead in his tracks, rising from his stealthy semi-crouch to stand upright in the open, not unlike a rabbit caught in headlights. He hesitated for a moment, mesmerized by something the others couldn't see, and then dashed back to his partners-in-crime.

"What are you doing?" Tiny demanded. "You were almost inside."

Stocky shook his head, eyes almost bugging from the cutouts of his woolly mask. "Oh man, you're not gonna believe it!" he gasped. "I mean, breaking into this place is... is _child's play_ compared to this." They just stared at him blank-faced. "For all you brain-dead morons that translates to _come and check this out_." He led them further out into the industrial estate, yet away from the warehouse.

"We're going the wrong way!" Weedy fretted. "I'm never gonna get my limited edition 'Mutant Gladius' figure now."

"Forget the lame reproductions," Stocky scoffed. "Right there's the genuine article!" He pointed up a slight rise to where two other gatecrashers were seated, lit in the silvery glow of a nearby street lamp. 

There was a wondering silence as they gawked at the pair - one large and imposing with dark, intense features and wide shoulders; the other leaner and meaner, hungry-looking, with stark white hair and sharp eyes, smoke spiraling up from the cigarette in his wildly gesticulating hand. Judging by their expressions, they were in the midst of a serious conversation.

"Oh-my-God," Tiny whispered.

"Gladius and Falchion," Weedy breathed, awestruck to the point of delirium. "They look so real."

Stocky fumbled about in his rucksack for a camera. "It was in with the lock-picks, I know it was..." He pulled out a Star Wars thermos and stared at it. "Who the hell packed this? I said we didn't need snacks..."

"Oh-my-God," Tiny repeated.

"It's... it's really them, isn't it?" Weedy sounded faint now. "This is so cool. I think I'm gonna cry."

"Oh-my-God." 

Stocky scowled at them. "Will you pull yourselves together? You sound like complete dicks." He held up his camera and smiled triumphantly. "This, my friends, is gonna make us rich beyond our wildest dreams." 

~[*]~

"So, do you want me to talk to her?" Angel asked. He hadn't dared to look directly at Spike, fearing another embarrassing breakdown, and concentrated on his own hands. "I might be able to..."

"Knockin' down the Slayer's defenses is a mite tougher than that," Spike advised, butting out his cigarette in the dirt. "Been at it for years and only scratched the surface. All the basic brickwork's still fully intact." He grimaced at the crushed-up stub in his hand before tossing it away. "Maybe I need a bigger wrecking ball."

Angel eyed him doubtfully. "Or maybe you could try going in a back way."

"Link's already been that," the younger vampire asserted. "And it's not helped worth a candle. I've said the same the whole way along - I need to be accepted for who I am and not because of some stupid mystical thing." 

He pulled at a loosened thread on his shirt, pausing to watch in askance as it continued to unravel on it's own until the button toppled off into his lap. "Huh. Shoddy workmanship that." He balanced the wayward button on his thumb and flicked it two-fingered at Angel. It missed its target. 

"Anyway, as I was sayin'... It's like bein' at a party you've not been invited to, the link. Brilliant fun for a time, all warm beer n' giggles, but then you get caught out and the guests stare down their noses like you're not fit to wipe their boots on."

"A Scooby-only party," Angel reflected. "I've been there. Doesn't get any more exclusive." His lips twisted. "Though, in that light, I'd have to say Xander makes a pretty unimpressive bouncer."

Spike snorted with amusement, then froze and threw him an incredulous look. "Bugger all, did you just crack a joke?" He shook his head. "Looks like there's a bit of me old Sire left in there after all. That cheerleader bird's been a right good influence on you, hasn't she?"

"Cordy's the best." It was a simple, heartfelt statement, something that Angel believed in without a shred of doubt.

Spike had a sarcastic reply on the tip of his tongue, but kept his mouth shut and peered suspiciously over his shoulder instead. "Did you hear a noise?"

They'd barely turned to look back down the slope at the warehouse when there was a rapid succession of flashes, so bright they all but blinded the two vampires. Then came the sound of running feet - lots of running feet, charging away with all the stealth of a herd of elephants.

"Bloody hell," Spike said ardently, one hand clamped over his eyes. "I'd only just got the peepers back at full power, too." He lifted his fingers and blinked at his Sire, trying to focus. "How many'd ya make it? Three?"

Angel nodded. "Three. Headed back toward the south entrance."

They exchanged a shrugging 'to hell with it' glance and then sprinted after the culprits with a speed and grace that couldn't have been anything other than supernatural, easily tracking their prey despite the shimmery specks of light still dancing before their eyes.

For Spike, the camouflage-clad figures scrabbling to safety over the back fence suddenly became far less a priority than catching the breath that deserted him right when he needed it most. He skidded, lost his footing, and slumped onto the ground, wheezing.

Angel had almost reached the fence and was gathering himself for the simple vault over it, when he realized that Spike was no longer alongside him. 

Spike had always been the faster of them, especially over short distances. He was like a cheetah that way, exerting all his energy in one great rush, striking his quarry with a vicious flurry of fists and fangs, efficient and deadly. _'I killed them, right quick'_. Angel preferred to wear his victims down until they were too tired to fight back - or at least, Angelus had, back in the days when he'd actually had victims. 

The younger vamp's absence spooked him more than he would have liked to admit and he ground to a halt, kicking up a spray of gravel. Pebbles pinged rapid-fire into the metal fence as he wheeled back around, immediately spotting where Spike lay curled on his side some twenty feet behind him. 

"Spike?"

There was no reply save for a pained gasp and Angel frowned, his heightened senses zeroing in on the tachycardic pounding that was Spike's borrowed heartbeat. He cast one last look toward the boundary, noting the silhouette of a black van as it zoomed off into the night, tyres screaming, and then made his way back to the blonde vampire's side.

By the time he got there, Spike was sitting up and reaching for his cigarettes with shaking hands.

"God, Spike, what was that? One of these 'episodes' that you keep talking about?"

Spike fixed him with a withering stare. "What do you bloody think?" He gazed off into the distance and sighed. "Got away, did they?"

Angel hunched his shoulders and gnawed at his lower lip. _How could Spike be concerned about that, after what had just happened?_ "Yeah, but..."

"Leave it," Spike said in monotone. "Can't nothin' be done anyway. Least I can have a proper last hurrah nabbin' those wankers."

TBC...


	6. Action and Consequence

**__**

EPISODE SIX  
"Action and Consequence"  
  
Buffy's head hurt. 

The lump above her ear had already healed a little, but it had also left a colorful spray of bruising that fanned all the way out along the top of her cheekbone. She looked like she'd been well and truly battered. Whatever Spike had run into out in LA had to have been pretty hard to mark her like that, and whatever he'd hit straight afterward had resulted in a similar pattern across the middle of her back. 

She was sort of mad that he'd endangered Seth by being reckless, but also weirded-out by the fact that she hadn't sensed any real danger. She'd just got the same surge of fight-or-flight adrenaline she normally got from him when they patrolled, so whatever it was he was doing it wasn't life-in-peril stuff.

The worst part was that on top of the headache, she couldn't ever remember feeling so depressed; a depression so deeply ingrained that she couldn't discern whether it was his or hers. She felt like there was a huge weight pulling her down. Not the literal, dragging kind that she occasionally felt with Seth, but an emotional heaviness, a great big black cloud of _something_.

She missed Spike. That was part of the problem, at least. He had always been a bright spot in an otherwise gloomy existence, had always sparked something elemental in her, something raw and powerful. He made her feel alive. Without him she felt dead and listless and, despite being surrounded by her friends, utterly alone.

"I miss Spike," she said suddenly, causing her companions to turn and look at her. "Is that wrong?"

"No! No, of course not," Willow hurried to assure her. "Don't ever think that. It's completely understandable. He's... he's the father of your baby, for starters."

"He's your soul mate," Tara put in. "Your true partner. You feel incomplete without him, inadequate. Like part of you is missing."

Buffy gaped at her, tears welling in her eyes. "God, that's beautiful. You should, like, write that down or something."

Tara smiled softly. "You said it yourself, remember? Way back when Mr. Giles tried to sever the link."

"I did?" Buffy frowned. "I... did. How could I forget something like that?"

"You seem to be forgetting a lot of things lately," Willow commented. "It was just small stuff to begin with. You know, not picking up milk on the way home, or calling us about patrol, but now you're..." She bit her lip, not sure whether she should continue.

"I'm what? What am I?" 

"You're forgetting the people who mean the most," Willow blurted. "You never talk about your Mom anymore..."

"She's dead," Buffy inserted bluntly. "What's to talk about?"

Willow crumpled slightly, upset by her friend's callousness, but struggled on nonetheless, "...a-and you hardly ever check in with Giles. Now you've shut Spike out, and he's the closest person in the world to you. It's like, nothing matters except for Seth."

"Well, he's important!"

"We're not saying he isn't. He's precious, a miracle even," Tara said kindly. "But he's not... he's not the _only_ one you have to worry about." She took a deep breath. "Have you even thought about what you could be doing to Spike?"

"Huh?" Buffy blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Buffy, think about it. If you keep pushing him away, he's eventually gonna run out of away room." Willow scowled at her own verbal inadequacy. "I mean, it'll get to a point where he's got no more room to go."

"And again, I say 'Huh?'"

Tara came to Buffy's rescue. "What Will's trying to say is, how far can you push before the link snaps?"

"The link can't... snap...? Can it?" Buffy's eyes got really big. "God, what if the link snaps? He'll die, won't he? Spike will die." Buffy spread both hands across her belly as though the motion itself could quell her sudden twinge of panic. Her face drained of color, to a point where the witches thought she might faint. "I could kill him."

"Yes, you could," Tara agreed, glad she'd gotten the Slayer to at least contemplate the risks of the estrangement. "But that's always been true. We all know it won't ever happen."

"I hope not," Buffy's reply was little more than a whisper. She bowed her head to stare at her hands, still molded to the distended contour of her stomach, and didn't recognize herself anymore.

Xander and Anya chose that moment to emerge from the direction of the basement - he gallantly toting a carton filled to the brim with an assortment of jars, and she trailing disinterestedly in his wake.

After he'd deposited his cargo on the counter, the ex-demon sighed loudly. "Is that it?" she asked. "Do you feel manly enough yet?"

Buffy perked up, welcoming the distraction of someone else's relationship problems. The witches exchanged curious glances but said nothing, each of them loath to ask the inevitable question. Luckily Xander leapt to his own defense.

"Hey, manly here! I have _extreme_ manly man-ness. I just..." He shrugged self-consciously and jammed his hands into his pockets. "I was just wondering you know, why the feeble fairy name? Gladius is a sword and Falchion is a sword. How come I don't get to be sword-guy?"

"His manhood is all threatened," Anya told them, pulling the herb-filled jars one by one from their box and positioning them on the shelves behind the counter.

"And what, the whole fairy part of that didn't concern you?" Willow struggled to hide her grin.

"Huh? No! No, it doesn't seem very... macho. It's all, 'Ooh, Leal doesn't need a weapon because he's so cute and funny and ...and _non-heroic_.'"

"Bollocks," Buffy sneered.

Xander blinked at her. She'd sounded so uncannily like the absent Bleached Boy Wonder that he was positive she'd channeled his spirit or something; almost like when the link stuff had first happened. If she started talking to invisible people they were in serious trouble. 

"Great Spike impersonation there, Buff," he offered. "Fun at parties and big with the scary. You can stop any time now."

"That was total load of bollocks," she went on, as though he hadn't spoken at all. "As in 'crap', as in 'utter baloney'. Sure, you're cute and funny, but you're also one of the most heroic people I know."

He smiled; a wide, goofy caricature of a smile that went beyond pleased and almost split his face in two. "Really?"

"Come on, you've been a Scooby for how long now? You help save the world all the time, and you do it because you're you. Because you're special, and not in a Chosen One kinda way. You don't have the mystical super-powers or anything; you're just a regular guy fighting the good fight. Can't get any more heroic than that." She paused for effect. "Plus, I need someone with some semi-heroic qualities to be my designated Slay buddy and this means that you therefore qualify."

Anya eyed her doubtfully. "You need a Slay buddy? What for, and why does it have to be Xander?" She drew herself upright indignantly. "You can't have Xander. He may become dead or dismembered. I need his member fully intact. You know, for sex," she added, just in case they hadn't clued in to her clever innuendo.

Buffy decided to ignore that part, Anya's insinuations regarding Xander usually only served to make her queasy. "Since Spike's incommunicado in LA, I need someone to back me up," she admitted and folded her hands on the shelf her belly provided. "Nipper's not exactly tag-team material yet. And I sorta leave the high part out of high-kicks these days."

Willow scowled. "You never let on..."

"That I was having trouble keeping up with the slaying?" Buffy smiled ruefully. "Can you blame me? Slayer here. Not of the good if I can't cut the mustard." She hesitated; mimed a slicing-with-a-knife motion, then gave them a quizzical look. "Can you cut mustard?"

"Mustard-cutting aside, I'm all for helping out with the patrol," Xander volunteered. His cheeks were flushed an unflattering crimson from both Anya's color commentary and the Slayer's praise, but he was standing just a little bit taller because of it. "Just consider me the swarthy Ricardo Tubbs to your dashing, pastel-clad Sonny Crockett. We'll walk the beat, make the rounds, run down some evil and nail its ass to the wall..." He stopped. "Okay, that last part, not so much. I kinda ran short on the Miami Vice analogies."

"What are you talking about?" Anya demanded, staring at him in bewilderment. "I never understand any of your obscure popular culture references. I feel very left out." She pouted and folded her arms.

Xander rolled his head back, either popping-out some frustrated tendons or beseeching a higher power for assistance, it was hard to tell. "Sorry, Ahn," he mumbled. "I keep forgetting that history is nothing but a vast vengeancy blur for you."

"Hey!" Anya defended. "I'll have you know the nineteen-eighties was a productive decade for me despite all the big hair and shoulder pads women tortured themselves with." She sniffed. "Men were often the least of their problems."

Buffy exchanged a horrified look with Willow and Tara. They all shuddered. "Look, can we not revisit that particular era?" she pleaded. "Some of us have traumatic childhood memories."

"And I'm suddenly having sandbox flashbacks," Xander said. "In which I am made to swallow copious amounts of said sand. Tell me again why I'm a hero, Buffster. Boost my oft-bullied ego."

Buffy snorted. "Oh please!"

"I'm not kidding!" Xander insisted. "I mean, even Giles gets to be Mage the wise and powerful. His fairy looks like Gandalf with wings."

"Oh pooh!" Anya dismissed that with an airy wave of her hand. "There's absolutely no resemblance. Gandalf has that unruly facial hair. All the mini-Giles had was that funny pointed hat."

"To match his funny pointed ears," Buffy chirped.

"And his pointy magic wand," Willow added, then wrinkled her nose. "How stereotypical was that? Nobody uses a wand to do magic anymore, it's the height of corny."

Tara gave her a lop-sided grin. "Snob," she teased.

"Yes, she is," Anya agreed matter-of-factly, giving Willow a stern look. "You're in no position to be condescending. All the best wizards use wands. It's the done thing. Perhaps you could control your spells better if you did use one. They're really quite simple to construct when you know how..."

"What's that supposed to mean, 'control your spells'?" Willow fumed. "I've never... I mean, I only occasionally lose..." She folded her arms, dropping into a sulk. "I have lots of control."

Buffy absentmindedly massaged her lower belly. Stupid cramps. "Sorry, Will. I have to side with Anya on this one. Remember that whole 'do thy will' thing featuring Blind Giles and the Demon Magnet?"

"Hey!" Xander piped up. "Didn't they play the Bronze last month?"

Willow ignored him, and frowned at Buffy. "Why are you bringing that up? I thought that'd be listed under a big 'fond memories' heading now, what with the Spike smoochies and all."

Buffy concentrated hard on her stomach, evading the witch's probing gaze. "Okay, bad example." She was silent for a moment, then gave a small nod, as if making a decision and hauled herself upright. "I'm gonna go hang 'round the headstones for a while. Coming Xand?" She aimed for exit, not waiting to see whether or not he followed.

Xander gave her retreating back a long, probing look and then turned to Anya, brows raised. When she merely shrugged, he trailed after the Slayer. "And I'll see you ladies later."

The door closing behind him was like the starting signal for discussion. 

"You see what I was talking about?" Willow was all but wringing her hands. "With the standoffish? Something is seriously wrong. We have to find out what it is so we can help. We need to help."

The three women gazed at each other, at a loss as to just how they were supposed to do that.

~[*]~

Angel and Spike stomped through the newly restored rear courtyard of the Hyperion, quibbling over tactics as they went. 

"We're coming back for reinforcements because I _don't_ have a great blinding death wish," Angel explained through gritted teeth, fast-losing what patience Spike hadn't already eroded away with his abrasive presence. "Jumping feet first into a crowd of demons twice well, _your_ size is not my idea of fun."

"What is, watching paint dry?" Spike paused at the bottom of the stairs leading indoors and scowled at his Sire's back. "And I do not have a death wish," he grouched. "The whole point about this trip was my _not _dying."

Cordelia was already waiting by the weapons cabinet when they came inside. "I felt the Warrior-on-a-mission vibe coming from a mile away," she told Angel, all business. "What do you need?"

Spike was impressed. He'd never seen this side of the girl. Had guts she did, not unlike a certain Slayer of his acquaintance. "Couple o' medium sized axes should do it," he told her. "Want to come off threatening, but not so over-laden that we look to be lily-livered."

"The whole 'I'm too cool for these weapons' method of intimidation," Cordy surmised. "Which might work if you were actually cool or intimidating instead of a scrawny stack of neither." 

She tossed a broadsword toward Angel as she spoke, which he caught without looking and swung over his shoulder, stalking past into the main office.

"That didn't look much like an axe," Spike commented dryly.

"It's his favorite," she confided in a none-too-subtle aside. "I think it's a security blanket sort of thing."

"I heard that, Cor," Angel said mildly, wandering back out into the lobby. He glanced at the stairs, frowned, and then looked back at Cordelia. "Where's Wes?"

"He and Fred went out for 'ice-cream'." She made little air-quote marks with her fingers. 

"Uh huh." Angel just nodded, taking her words at face value and completely missing the significance.

Cordy exchanged a look with Spike. The younger vampire seemed almost as fondly exasperated with Angel's continued ignorance as she did. She smiled. "Gunn's out on a case with _her_, if you're wondering."

Spike didn't know whether to be offended by her dismissal of Drusilla or not. He cocked his head to the side and peered along his nose at her. "Not a fan of Dru's then?"

"No more than I was of you when you were at her stage of moral development," she shot back.

He grimaced. "Don't ever remember us doing anything to you personally," he mumbled, his tone caught somewhere between self-justification and embarrassment. "Me or Dru. We conveniently taking the blame for something or what?"

"No." Cordelia's flinch contradicted the hasty denial. She was suddenly having flashbacks to Dru's ill-timed Spike dumpage and the consequent 'Cordy-kabob with an extra helping of painful'. She cast a pleading gaze toward Angel, seeking a means of escape from the hole she'd unwittingly dug for herself. 

He was of no use whatsoever, staring distractedly into space. 

"Hello?" she called. "Earth to Angel..." She broke off into a lighthearted cackle. "Jeez, how lame does _that_ sound?"

The corners of Spike's mouth took on a wicked curl. "You want an honest answer?"

"God, will you just _SHUT. UP!"_

They gawked at Angel, startled by the outburst.

The older vampire scowled at his Childe, chocolate-colored eyes simmering, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "How can you keep acting so goddamn blasé?" he demanded. "Are you so selfish you can't see that this is affecting more than just you?" 

Cordelia took a step toward him. "Baby, what's -?"

"No. No, forget it." Angel waved a dismissive hand. "Let's just... go and get this done. The sooner he goes back to Sunnydale the better."

They were just about to head out when Wesley and Fred came in. The couple had been holding hands, but sprung apart on seeing they had an audience.

"_Spike_!" the former Watcher greeted warmly. "What brings you out here?"

"None of your damn business," Spike returned. His tone was just as warm even though he was still slightly miffed at Angel for saying he was selfish. What a load of bollocks that was... _Him? Selfish? Humph. _He wagged his brows at Fred. "Nice to see you've dispensed with the sackcloth and ashes ensemble, pet. Does wonders for you."

"Really?" Fred beamed, pleased by the complement. She tucked a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear and then straightened the hemline of her floral shift dress with nervous fingers. "Thanks. You look great too! I mean, not that you didn't before... You kinda look exactly the same actually." She frowned at that, her mind ticking over. "Do you age now or not? I forget that part."

Spike pursed his lips, hollowing out his cheeks to an almost skeletal degree. "Now there's a thought. Never got a proper instruction manual to go with the big humanity hookup, so I couldn't rightly say."

Wesley brightened at the prospect of some hands-on research. "I could carry out some tests while you're here?"

The blonde vampire eyed him skeptically. "Had enough of the prod 'n probe to last me, thanks all the same." He pointed toward his head, making a quirky trigger-pulling motion with his finger. "Unpleasant little incident involving government types and cunning chip-shaped implants?" 

He wasn't being dishonest, technically. The chip was still floating about in his skull, large as life, but there was no way that he was gonna tell them that it wasn't working anymore. Angel would definitely stake him then. _Hmm, possibilities there. Maybe telling wasn't such a bad idea after all... _

Spike contemplated the merits for a moment, conveniently forgetting his earlier protestations about having a death wish. While in the midst of a particularly gruesome scenario, he had another link attack. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale and light-headed and his nerve-ends twitched like he'd been electrocuted. He could hear someone calling him, but they sounded a long way off.

He struggled to find his equilibrium, and finally glanced up to realize that he'd zoned out and they were all staring at him. "Sorry. What? Did you say something?"

"Just another babbled apology from the babble twins," Cordy reported. She fluttered a hand to indicate Wes and Fred, but remained focussed solely on him. "Are you... okay?" The question seemed wrenched from her of it's own accord and she frowned as though wondering where it came from. 

Spike ignored her concern, blinking at the former Watcher and his twig-figured girlie, and then turning an assessing look back on Cordelia and Angel. "You know," he said speculatively. "You're severely lacking in blondes around here. Need one?"

"Are you and Buffy gonna come to stay?" Fred asked, then paused. "Wait. You said 'one'. One blonde, not two."

Spike once again found himself the center of everyone's undivided attention. Everyone that was bar Angel, who was gazing longingly at the door, wrapped in his own thoughts.

__

They were never going to get to the warehouse before sunrise at this rate, and they really needed to get this stupid fairy stuff over with. He got the feeling that the longer Spike and Buffy were apart, the worse the situation was going to get. As stubborn as they both were, 'worse' was not a good place to be. There may be no coming back from 'worse'. 

He sighed and began to tap the point of his sword against the floor, making little triangular notches in the linoleum. _Wonder if bashing their hard heads together would make any sort of impression?_

He let out another, even deeper sigh when Gunn and Drusilla entered from the direction of the basement. _Oh great, more distractions, just what Spike needed..._

"...One for the team," Gunn was saying, using the back of his sleeve to mop at a trail of clear slime dribbling down the side of his face. "Those Vuntarks didn't stand a..." He halted, realizing that the lobby was exceptionally full. "And we've got more than the usual number of vamps in tonight. Hey Spike."

Spike found he could do little more than nod in acknowledgement, stunned into silence by the sight before him. 

After nearly a hundred and fifty years, Drusilla had finally moved with the times. Her hair was cut in a short and sassy bob, her slender form shown to best advantage in brown suede hipsters and a cream bulky-knit sweater that seemed to have shrunk at some point, stopping several inches above her navel.

"William!" she gushed, the swimming-pool-blue of her eyes limpid with pleasure. "So nice of you to visit. Especially when I've got such grand news." She tucked a possessive arm through Gunn's, neatly avoiding the slime. "My dashing Knight Gallant just killed himself a nasty swarm of Vuntarks."

She was bragging, Spike knew, recognizing the tone as the same one she'd used when he'd done away with that Chinese Slayer all those years ago. He recoiled from the memory, and from Dru. _Any changes she'd made were merely window-dressing, then. Same as ever she was._

Angel had clearly recognized her tone as well, spinning around to pin them with his imperious gaze. "What did you call him?"

Dru blinked, a tiny frown forming between perfectly sculpted brows. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. It's Liam now, isn't it?"

Spike pulled a disgusted face, not wishing to be reminded of that while in the presence of his Sire.

"No, not him," Angel stalked toward them, training his sword at Gunn's head like a laser-pointer. "Him."

"Knight Gallant," Cordy reflected before Dru could comment. "Just like the fairy. Coincidence? I say 'nay'."

"No such thing," Spike agreed. He cocked his scarred brow at Dru. "Star's tell you to christen him with that?"

"I don't remember," she pouted. 

Angel redirected the sword, targeting Drusilla this time. "Try."

The vampiress was wholly unconcerned by his posturing. "Is it especially important?" she inquired curiously; lashes lowered to sleepy half-mast, the chin of her heart-shaped face set a-tilt.

Spike squinted at her. He definitely recognized _that_ expression. Those cat-like features were suddenly looking all too smug. He shook his head and set about lighting a cigarette to distract himself from asking her how the canary had tasted.

"Been callin' me that long as I've known her," Gunn said. "This not-so-crazy kick-ass version of her anyhow." He gave Angel a hard look. "And put the sword down, 'less you want me to shove it somewhere painful."

The elder vampire narrowed his eyes at the threat. "My, my. Protective aren't we?" he mused silkily, sounding so much like Angelus that Spike shuddered. "Something going on I should know about?"

Cordelia stepped in, slapping Angel lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, back off, Daddy Smallbucks," she chided. "Little Orphan Vampy can take care of her own self." A sharp look of her own this time, directed at Dru. "Right?"

"Certainly." Drusilla's smile was polite, almost demure, which usually meant she was trying to think of the best way to kill you. 

__

No love lost between those two. Spike resolved to keep well out of their way."Much as a cat-fight would amuse me just now, thought we were off to terrorize some Keratos." He glanced around, his brows raised in invitation. "You did mention reinforcements. More the merrier and all that."

Angel grunted, backing away from his stare-down with Gunn. _Spike was right. He hated when that happened_. "Okay. Gunn, you and Dru take your ride, back up only. Cordy, Wes, you're with me and Spike." He paused and tipped his chin at Fred. "You're up with all that computer stuff, right?"

The young physicist darted an apprehensive glance at Wesley. He smiled at her reassuringly. "Um, yeah? It's been a coupla years, but I reckon I can still... Why?"

"Can you chop into the DMV database and track down a number plate for me?"

"Chop?" Fred blinked rapidly, each flutter seemingly connected to the cogs whirling in her brain as she processed what he was saying. She seemed awed that he was even speaking to her in the first place, let alone asking her to do something of import. "Oh! Oh, you mean _hack_. Well, sure. I could do that. I think. Whatcha got?"

Angel moved to the counter, scribbled some numbers on the back of one of the business cards and handed it over. "It's only a partial, but it belongs to a black transit van. Older model, but the guys in it were young. Early twenties maybe."

Spike let out a disdainful snort at his Sire's performance, twin streams of smoke blasting from his nostrils. He sauntered toward the courtyard doors; one of Angel's prized fighting axes perched insouciantly atop his shoulder, black leather flowing behind him like the cape of some perverse superhero. 

"Linger on and play Sam Spade all you want, Peaches," he declared. "Gonna go raid me a bloody warehouse."

TBC...


	7. Defining Normal

**__**

EPISODE SEVEN  
"Defining Normal"  
  
The black van pulled over to the sidewalk, slowly crawling to a stop and lurking in the shadows. Three pale faces peered out of the windscreen and across the street; their eyes moving in concurrent motion up the massive building that occupied the next block, it's impressive bulk silhouetted by the moon's argentine glow.

"_Bastion_," they chorused in hushed undertone.

"This is it," Tiny went on. "The secluded fortress home of Gladius and Jewel."

"And it's disappointingly lacking in both the seclusion and the fortressness departments," Weedy said. "Where are the sentries and stuff? Gallant should be standing out in front with that wicked axe of his at least."

"It's an old hotel," Stocky informed them. He'd pulled out a pair of binoculars and was scanning the entrance through the driver's side window. "'The Hyperion'," he mused, reading the signage. Then scoffed. "Lame. This whole set-up is so lame. It's a wonder they haven't been found out before."

"We're going to be the lame ones when they realize that we doubled back and followed them here." Tiny squirmed in his seat. "I mean, did you even see how fast they moved? I don't know how we got away without severe body damage."

"Yeah," Weedy agreed. "We are so gonna get busted."

"Shut up, Whine-drew," Stocky snapped.

"It's _Andrew_," Weedy/Andrew mumbled sulkily. "How come no one ever remembers that? Not like it's difficult or anything. You remember all the Eldrichian names, no probs."

"That's because they're interesting," Stocky sneered. "And you're not."

"Leave him alone, Warren," Tiny said petulantly, raising his rounded chin in an uncharacteristic show of defiance.

"And what? Pick on someone my own size? Oh wait. I can't." Stocky/Warren gave him a scathing look. "God you're pathetic. You're pathetic and you're short. Next time I'm partnering up with some guys who're actually..." He straightened suddenly, fingers hurriedly moving to better focus his binoculars. "Hang on, someone's coming out..."

All three paused with bated breath, waiting.

...And waiting.

"Well?" Tiny prompted. "Who is it?"

Warren shook his head in disbelief, listing the group one by one as they emerged from the depths of the celebrated building. "Falchion, Gladius... and, holy crap, _Jewel._"

"Where?" Tiny leant over Warren's shoulder, trying to get a better view, and then made an attempt at grabbing the binoculars out of his hands. "She's so hot!"

Warren shoved him. "Don't make me hurt you, Jonathon."

Tiny/Jonathon backed off, mouth set in a mutinous line, and glared at his larger companion. "You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for me."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Warren perked up again. "Ooh! Vigil just came out with Gallant and Nebula. They're all pretty well armed. Serious hardware, too. Could be something's up."

"They're probably going to hunt us down and kill us," Andrew fretted. "I'm too young to die!"

While Warren was scowling at Andrew, Jonathon finally managed to snatch the binoculars and zeroed in on the boat-like shape of the Gladius-mobile just as it tore away from the hotel, tyres squealing. The top was down and Falchion was perched on top of the backseat like he was riding in a Thanksgiving Day parade, the florescent streetlight accenting his hair and the gleaming leather across his shoulders. Gladius was in the driver's seat, almost invisible in the dark, his precious Jewel curled trustingly against his side.

Jonathon suddenly gasped, the magnifying lenses dropping from his fingers onto the floor of the van. "Oh-my-God."

Warren smacked him around the head. "Hey! Watch it, bumblefingers." He shifted forward to retrieve the fallen item and only then noticed the stupefied expression on the boy's baby face. "What?"

"That wasn't Jewel," Jonathon said. "That was Cordelia Chase. We went to high school together." He blinked, turning wide eyes on his companion. "I think I know where Eldritch is."

~[*]~

Giles rapped on the front door to 1630 Revello Drive with far more purpose than he had the last time and was satisfied by the sharp sound his knuckles made on the paneling. Yes, that was suitably authoritative.

He waited for what seemed an exorbitant amount time and then knocked again, now feeling a small measure of concern. _Why wasn't she answering?_ "Buffy?"

He leant forward to check for signs of life, to try and peer through one of the rectangular glass insets, or even rest his ear against the door, when it abruptly swung open in front of him.

The Slayer blinked up at him, uncharacteristically startled, her eyes huge and red-rimmed, dominating her otherwise pale face. 

"Oh Giles," she said inanely and sniffed, one hand wiping surreptitiously at her cheek. "It's you."

Giles paused, not sure how he could respond to that, and she took the opportunity to peer around him into the street, searching for precisely _what_ he couldn't hope to guess. Hidden cameras perhaps.

"Wow, this is like becoming a regular thing," she remarked. "The visiting, I mean."

He sighed. It was worse than he'd thought, almost as bad as Spike had been making out. She was blatantly covering up, ignoring the fact that anyone with eyes in their head could see she'd been crying, let alone someone who was as close to her as family. 

"Buffy..." he began.

She smiled, forcibly bright, and stepped back. "Oh sorry, my bad. Not exactly hostess-with-the-mostest these days. Come on in." She gestured toward the living room. "Spike's not here, but you knew that already."

"Indeed." He took a seat on the sofa, casting an eye over the suspiciously crushed box of tissues on the coffee table, and then pulling an appropriately horrified face at the crater-sized bowl of popcorn beside it. She had evidently been indulging in her own unique brand of wallowing.

Buffy delved into the puffed-up kernels, taking a handful. "Want some?"

"Er... Uh, no." He frowned at her. "Buffy..."

She plopped into the armchair. "You keep saying my name all the time, like you wanna say something serious." She nodded sagely, munching on a piece of her popcorn. "I gotta save the world again don't I?"

"I should think this is actually rather more important."

"What's bigger than world saveage? Other than the gi-normous beached-whaleyness that is me?"

Giles pinned her with steely eyes. "Why have you neglected to tell me of your problems with Spike?"

She glanced away guiltily. "Oh. You want to talk about..."

"What transpired in the Magic Box, yes. And also the consequences of your actions." 

"Consequences? There are consequences now?" That flustered her, he could tell; the nervous babble was a dead giveaway. "Well, there was the yelling thing, and that wicked black eye..."

Giles leant forward, hands clasped together. "Do you realize what you're doing to him? How badly he's hurting?"

Buffy's eyes welled again, and her chin trembled. "I'm not doing anything to him. It's not me."

"It's not? Are you so sure?"

At the quietly solicitous tone in his voice, she finally broke down. 

"_No, I'm not!_ There's sure, and then there's me. I'm the incredibly unstable Unsure Girl. I just don't get it, Giles!" she lamented. "We were so happy, and then we weren't... and I don't mean to be so mean... and, and ...I love him _SO MUCH!_ I don't want to hurt him, and I really don't want him to die! I don't!"

The Watcher's mouth twisted in an ironic smile. "Strangely enough, neither do I."

She stared at him, tears continuing to spill down her cheeks, seemingly unable to comprehend what he had just said. "But..."

"Despite what you may believe, I'm actually quite, um... fond of our resident vampire. He can be very... He - he does tend to grow on you."

"Like fungus," Buffy asserted. "Or one of those ivy-plant vine thingies. He gets all twined around your insides and then you just can't get him out with out destroying something vital."

Giles grimaced. "Yes, well, that's a very colorful way of looking at it."

"But it's true!" she insisted. She grabbed a wad of tissue from the box on the table and loudly blew her nose. "It looks all wrong on the surface, but Spike and me go together like ...Spike and me. We just _fit_, you know? We fit so good that for a while I couldn't tell where I finished and he started. Which wasn't always the best thing..."

"But he is an essential part of your life."

"I don't have a life without Spike. He is me. Only male. And British. And a vampire... Well, okay, so he's not me_ exactly_..."

"You've never told him any of this, have you?"

"I didn't think I had to." She tapped the side of her head. "Link, right? I figured he already knew."

Giles rubbed his fingers into the crease in his forehead, though years of vexation had made the mark one of the deepest lines on his face and no amount of massage would ever eradicate it. 

"He believes that you are pushing him away. That you don't need him anymore because he doesn't fit into the image you've created of a normal life..."

"Well, that's just stupid."

"...And I'm not convinced he's entirely wrong."

Buffy was silenced by that revelation. She huddled further into her chair, sliding down on her tailbone, a crease to rival Giles' forming between her brows. The gauzy over-shirt she wore had been knotted above the generous swell of her stomach and she absently twisted the loose tails around her fingers. 

"Some of the responsibility can be placed squarely on my own doorstep," Giles went on. "I've been cautioning you from the very beginning to keep your identity secret, to appear normal above all else. I'm afraid I seem to have done more harm than good in that respect."

"No, that's not right. This has nothing to do with... It's not about you." Buffy struggled upright. "I wanted a nice normal life. Okay? I admit that. I wanted it for the longest time, but it could never work for me. Every time I got close, it blew up in my face. Remember that whole fiasco with Riley? That clinched it. I don't want normal now, or nice. I want Spike."

Giles chuckled. "Out of the mouths of... mothers-to-be."

"Shut up," she hiccuped, part sob, part laugh. "It's not funny."

"Certainly not." The Watcher sighed, serious once again. "Regardless of what you're saying Buffy, Spike is adamant that this estrangement is of your doing... A-a-and, quite astonishingly, he's willing to sacrifice himself so that you may have the normal life that you want."

"But already said that I don't..." Buffy paused in the middle of reaching for another helping of popcorn, eyes widening. "Sacrifice himself?"

"I've never seen him at such a low ebb," Giles said softly. "It's somewhat disconcerting. He's usually so... it seems ludicrous to say, but he's usually so lively, so dynamic. A force to be reckoned with, a..."

"...Pain in the ass?"

"Quite."

Buffy mock-frowned at him. "Way to be supportive of my significant other, Giles," she admonished. Then she shook her head. "God, I could just kill him sometimes. He's so completely... _aargh_! Why doesn't he just talk to me, huh? He used to talk all the time. Used to be I couldn't pay him to shut up."

"Are you wholly confident that you are not accountable for the link's shortcomings?"

"Not _wholly_ confident. I'm not doing anything purposefully, not as far as I can tell, but I just get so... _cranky. _Mad cranky psycho Buffy on the rampage_._ And I don't get the why. Maybe its hormones." She brightened at that, fixing her Watcher with hopeful eyes. "Do you think its hormones?"

"I - I couldn't say," he stuttered at her. "I'm not an expert in these matters."

"Willow thinks I'm shutting everyone out, too. If I am, I don't mean to. I want you guys to be here, to be part of Seth's life the way you've been part of mine. Support system good, right?" She smiled sadly. "I've been thinking about that a lot. Haven't resolved anything, but the thinking part's covered. Everything keep going round and round in my head... and where it stops no one knows..." She giggled. "God, I sound like Drusilla. You think that'll get Spike back? He seemed to like the crazy..."

"Now you're just being ridiculous. I dare say it's another thing you have in common with Spike, he was acting rather the same way."

"Maybe we're influencing each other. It's not like we haven't done _that_ before."

Giles stared at her, struck by the statement. "Of course!" he exclaimed. "Buffy, you're picking up on each other's insecurities, and by doing that you're feeding them, making them manifest themselves."

She pouted. "Well, that sucks. Make it stop."

"I'm afraid that part's not up to me."

"You're no help. I thought you were supposed to be helping." She paused to suck in a deep breath, wincing and pressing a hand to her side. "Ow."

Giles actually panicked, shooting to his feet. "W-what? What is it?"

"Popcorn," she muttered viciously, as though confronting a mortal enemy. "Another item to add to the ever-expanding 'Buffy can't eat that anymore' list."

The Watcher shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking like he would like nothing better than to make a dash for it. "P-pardon?"

"Seth's pretty finicky about foodstuffs," she said, shifting her own weight to her right hip so that she was listing sideward in the chair. "Oh, that's much better," she sighed, enjoying a heartburn-free moment, then raised her brows at Giles. "I wonder if Spike's getting this. 'Cause now the pain's just sort of evaporated. That only happens when it transfers otherwhere."

"Shouldn't you be able to contact him and see?"

"Uh..." Buffy looked dumbstruck, like she was only now realizing that she could do that, but was still reluctant to make the attempt. "I guess."

"You guess? Buffy..."

"And there you go with the name-game again. Drop the sincere thing already, okay? I'll try it, just... gimme a minute."

She closed her eyes, lips pressed together in a thin line of concentration. After a moment her expression softened visibly, jaw going slack, those same lips parting on a blissful sigh. ..._Ah,_ _Spike_...

Being connected to Spike could sometimes be like sticking your finger in a power socket, or diving headlong off a cliff-face into a churning whirlpool. Right now, though, she was getting a diluted sense of comfort. He was surrounded by people he knew and trusted, people he categorized as family. On closer inspection, he actually felt kinda... well, _yellow_. All shiny and golden like a sunlit field, like the glow from a cozy open fire caressing her skin with its warm fingers. In spite of everything that was happening, he still felt like home to her. More like home than this house did nowadays.

"_And they call him mellow yellow_," she sing-songed in an amused tone. 

Giles quirked an eyebrow at the odd reference - he hadn't thought anyone her age had even heard of Donovan. Was this further evidence of Spike's influence? He refrained from commenting, though, and quietly moved back to his spot on the sofa. He did not wish to distract her.

Then Buffy suddenly hissed, as if in pain, and shot backward in her chair, her eyes flying open in shock, fingers clawing into the armrests. The Watcher was startled to see a ripple of the yellow she'd mentioned swirling through the deep green of her irises.

"Good Lord!" He found himself gravitating forward in his seat, mesmerized by the play of colors. There was a final fleeting glimmer of icy blue and then she returned to normal - if leaping out of her seat like a scalded cat could be construed as such. He wondered in passing if he'd ever seen a woman in such an advanced state of pregnancy move with that degree of speed and agility before.

He leapt to his own feet to follow her as she maneuvered toward the stairs. "Buffy, what is it?"

"I'm going to LA," she gritted determinedly. "Right now."

Giles caught hold of her arm just as she began her ascent, and instantaneously found himself catapulted into the front door as she flung him off without a second thought. He slid to the floor, stunned.

Buffy toddled to his side, reverting all at once to the tearful hormone bomb she'd been earlier. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I don't know where that came from. I haven't had that much power since..." She trailed off, terrified of what she'd just revealed. "Um..."

He propped himself up on his elbows. "I am aware of your current affliction," he said gently. "Spike enlightened me."

"Spike had no business lighting anyone," she retorted, more out of habit than anything, then chewed at her lip. Her eyes dropped to stare at the floor, troubled and hurt. "He pushed me away just now. Slammed the linky door in my face like I was an annoying travelling salesman person."

Giles frowned. "I would have thought him above revenge of that sort."

"What sort? There was no 'venge' in the first place, what's he need the 'Re' part for?"

"He told me you'd been pushing him away. Perhaps this is merely tit for tat."

She set her jaw. "But I _haven't_ been pushing him away," she intoned stubbornly. "I already said it wasn't me."

Giles looked up, his expression growing thoughtful. "You may be right. There may very well be an outside influence." His gaze was focused on her belly. From this new perspective, it looked enormous - the very thing he'd been overlooking now hitting him squarely in the face. "Or in this case, an _inside_ influence."

TBC...


	8. Green Demons and Yellowbellies

**__**

A/N: I know the updates have slowed to a crawl, but I'll be making a concerted effort to quicken my pace from here on in. I wanna get it finished before everyone starts losing interest after the finale. [We're only up to 'Showtime' here in Tassie, so we probably won't get 'Chosen' until August or September. Of course, I'm totally spoiled for everything, hence the depression and lack of writing progress (*sighs deeply*).]  
The last four chapters are **all** in progress (word of warning: never do that - it's not fun) so more is definitely on the way.  
Cheers all, Dee. **: )  
**

__

EPISODE EIGHT  
"Green Demons and Yellowbellies"

Spike stalked along the now familiar metal grating of the warehouse catwalk, his tread smooth and purposeful. Florescent light filtered through the latticework, dancing up over the fall of his duster to paint abstract designs across his pale features.

Angel hung back and watched him, mesmerized, only jerking out of his wary scrutiny when Cordelia prodded him with the point of her crossbow.

"Ow!" He twisted around to glare her, rubbing at his abused arm. "What was that for?"

"Keep your eyes on the big scaly demons," she admonished, indicating the floor below them. "Down there. Not the little annoying one up here."

"But he..." Angel turned back to Spike. "He's acting weird."

"And this is news why?" Cordy followed Angel's gaze, only to frown herself when she observed the blonde's behavior. "Wait. What's he doing?"

"See?" Angel shook his head, eyes riveted to the younger vamp. "Weird."

Spike's face was now etched in a grimace of pain. He leant against the catwalk's handrail, bending over at the waist, the double-sided battle-axe dangling forgotten from his right hand. The left was rubbing at his chest and he was muttering something inaudible under his breath. Inaudible, but vehement, the simmering rage all but tangible. 

"Well, that's all kinds of disturbing," Cordy whispered. "Can you hear what he's saying?" 

Angel concentrated for a moment, then, "Not really. Something about... popcorn?" He shot her a quizzical look. "That doesn't make any sense."

She shrugged. "It's Spike. Who the hell knows what goes on in that freaky over-bleached head?"

There was a pause as they both digested what she'd said, and then they answered simultaneously, "Buffy."

Overhearing the name, Spike pivoted on his heels to stare at them, his eyes narrowed dangerously, jaw clenched tight. 

__

Buffy. 

He hated that she could do this to him. Hundred or more miles away and she was still shadowing his every move, tainting his every thought, the slightest contact making him ache inside and leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth. 

Heartburn - Appropriate bloody word for it.

And, sod it, enough was enough. He'd had it with being at her beck and call. He was his own man now, whether she liked it or not...

His nostrils flared, anger curling his lips into a sneer, eyes gleaming a brilliant yellow as his demon came forth. With a deft twirl of his wrist, the axe swung up to battle readiness, and the vampire launched himself up and over the handrail and into the pit of Keratos demons below.

Angel and Cordelia looked on, unabashedly wide-eyed, as he plummeted several feet to land boots-first in a feline crouch. He rolled, absorbing the impact, and then in one fluid move, sprang upright and tossed the axe. It slammed through a control panel with lethal accuracy, shutting down the conveyor belts. He bounced on his toes; tongue firmly planted behind his teeth, and wagged his eyebrows at the one demon he recognized. Apollyon.

"'Ello Polly. Who's been a naughty boy then?"

Angel rolled his eyes at Cordelia, exasperated. 

__

No death wish, huh? Only problem was that if Spike got himself dusted, Buffy would more than likely stake HIM for not protecting the little twerp in the first place...

Cordy smiled and patted him encouragingly on the shoulder; her hand lingering to stroke down his arm in a subtle caress before she moved back to descend the stairs she'd just spent ten minutes climbing. Angel waited until she disappeared in the shadows, before leaping down to join Spike.

His landing was slightly less spectacular than the younger vamp's had been and he ended up lying in an inelegant sprawl at Spike's feet having narrowly avoided being impaled on his own sword.

"Graceful as ever," the blonde jeered as his Sire struggled upright.

"Shut up, Spike."

"Right. 'Cause I'm not the one whose got some explainin' to do." He stared pointedly at the still silent Keratos, brows arched skyward. "Care to start?"

Apollyon angled his head and regarded him with one bright green eye. "S-spike."

"Yeah. That'd be me. Nice of you to remember."

"S-s-spike!" Apollyon hissed again, louder.

"Uh, yeah? What?" The blonde blinked at the enormous demon, confused by his insistent tone and twitched in surprise, unconsciously reverting to human form, when another Keratos materialized behind him.

"Yeah?" it imitated in a high, oscillating tone, then squeaked and began to laugh with what the vampire could only hope was delight. The noise was horrendous. He scowled up at it and wiggled a finger in his ear.

"S-s-spike!" Apollyon was waving the rest of the lumbering reptilian-demons toward him now, his tongue flicking in and out excitedly. "S-s-spike! S-s-spike!""

__

"WHAT?!" Spike was beginning to work beyond annoyance now, getting up a full head of homicidal steam. "I _am_ aware of my own name, you know."

Angel's lips quirked, twisted, then began to spread into a great big crooked grin that looked completely alien on his usually impassive face.

Spike squinted at him. "Am I the only one here who's even remotely sane? What the bloody hell is going on?"

"How many litters did you say Apollyon had?" Angel asked out of the blue.

"Didn't." Spike looked at the broadsword in his Sire's hands, seriously contemplating nicking it and decapitating every single one of them. "And what's that got to do with the King of Redundant over there?"

"Well, judging by the size of these guys, I'd say they were the oldest bunch of offspring. The first litter."

"And?"

"And they're all called Spike."

Spike stared at him, mouth open. "No they bloody well are not!" He turned the disbelieving stare on Apollyon. "Are they?"

Apollyon nodded vigorously, his tentacles extending to indicate his progeny, now numbering more than half a dozen. "Honor for deed," he informed the vampires. "Fealty."

"Don't want your sodding fealty," Spike grumbled, still eyeing him distrustfully. "And speakin' of deeds done, where's that money-grubbing missus of yours?"

Wesley emerged from a side office, leading Idylla at the point of his sawn-off shotgun, vigilantly avoiding the sinuous flow of her tentacles. "Is this the lady in question?" he asked, barely visible behind her bulk. "I discovered her uploading data from the computer inside. Rather hurriedly too, I might add." 

He didn't mention how peculiar it had been, the sight of the colossal demon tapping delicately at the keyboard with a single nail claw, but it would make for an amusing story later when circumstances weren't as tense.

"S-s-spike!" the large female demon boomed, the doubled tones of her voice bizarrely lower in pitch than the males and resonating painfully in their ears.

Spike winced. He'd forgotten how dissonant the females were, especially to delicate vampire hearing. It actually hurt to listen to them. "We got that part, love. Now, if you could shut your torturous yap for a second, I'll get on interrogatin' hubby dearest."

"Of service," Apollyon burbled, eager to please. "Tell all needed."

Idylla moved alongside her mate, revealing herself to be almost a full head taller, and laid a massive clawed hand atop his head, patting it soothingly.

The ridiculous grin had not left Angel's face and his chest was starting to ache from holding himself in check. When Cordy emerged from the stairwell, dark eyes sparkling with amusement as she picked up on his mood, the knowledge that she was sharing his glee snapped what was left of his control and his laughter exploded in a high hysterical rush. 

Spike glowered. "Not really the time, Peaches," he admonished between clenched teeth.

That earned him another howl of laughter. _Spike was criticizing his timing!_ The older vampire flung his arms around Cordelia, almost to keep himself upright, and hiccuped loudly. 

Wesley stared at him, aghast. "Some decorum, Angel, please."

"They're all called Spike!" he wheezed, his face buried in the curve of Cordy's neck, his shoulders shaking.

"Entertaining, yes," Wesley agreed. "But hardly enough to inspire such delirium."

Cordy snorted. "Oh lighten up, Wes, or I'll go tell Fred you're a big old stick-in-the-mud."

Steely eyes narrowed at the suggestion but he prudently resorted from making any further comments, instead backtracking into the office to try and determine just what Idylla had been up to in there.

Spike sighed. "Right then, before this gets worse and to avoid _some_ confusion, I'll let you lot call me 'Liam' for the time bein'." He thrust an adamant finger at Angel before the older vamp could speak. "And no cheek from you."

Angel just nodded, sniffing, and handed his sword to Cordy while he wiped at his eyes. She shook her head, smiling indulgently all the while.

"Dork," she murmured softly.

Spike ignored them, focussed instead on the other demon couple. He gestured expansively. "So? Explain away. I'm all ears."

Apollyon flashed an ingratiating smile. "Family large," he said, causing a ripple of agreement from the attendant members. "Multiple litters. Mouths to feed many."

"Alright, I get that," Spike conceded, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being. "But not exactly seein' how that fits in with your little fairyland here."

"Gemel's exploits gainful to extreme," Apollyon went on, sounding like a bizarre cross between Giles and Anya. "Profit margin large." His expression brightened hopefully. "Cut you in?"

Idylla looked ready to protest her mate's offer, but recoiled with a deafening squawk when Spike growled at her. 

"If you want to keep those tongues of yours, I suggest you keep them in your head," he warned and turned his attention back to Apollyon. "You seriously tryin' to justify putting us all in danger for a few pound to line your pocket?"

Wesley returned from the office, this time looking somewhat more flustered. "Sorry to interrupt, but we may have further problems..."

"And those would be what?"

"Idylla seems to have been... um, posting the latest data on their web page. Unfortunately this includes information about Buffy's present... condition..."

Spike's eyes grew colder by the second, his teeth tightly clenched. "Which condition? Just about the Nip or -?"

Wesley wavered, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. "All of it, I'm afraid. Up to and including your current separation."

The blonde vampire was instantly back in game face, pure unadulterated fury driving bodily at the Keratos, his sheer momentum propelling them both forward until Apollyon slammed into one of the control panels, the machinery crumpling under his tremendous weight. 

Spike glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye, and kept one hand fast against the demon's throat while the other reached out to extract the battle-axe from where he'd thrown it earlier. He held it up under Apollyon's chin, the tip of one blade barely piercing the crustaceous skin. 

"Seth's origins were meant to be kept quiet, you sodding great git," he growled. "You wanna talk about family? Fair enough then. There'll be no more profitin' off me and mine, understand? Or your little clan's gonna find itself less one proud papa."

Apollyon gurgled, the only noise he was capable of making at this point, and his tentacles lashed out and attached themselves to the vampire, tiny suction caps clamping at his face and neck.

Angel struck without any thought but to help his Childe, the heavy broadsword slicing several of the demon's right-side appendages in half. He ducked and whirled, coming up again on the left to repeat the move, but Apollyon had let go just as suddenly as he had grabbed on, whining like an injured animal, the site of the amputation leaking a sticky black ichor. 

Idylla gabbled at him in sympathy, but she and the remainder of the family were prevented from coming to his aid by both Cordy and Wes' ready aim and their own reticence. They were, after all, a peaceable race and not inclined toward violence.

"Aargh!" 

Spike reeled sideward, away from the Keratos, hands scrubbing at his face where the tentacles had been. A raised, oddly polka-dotted welt ran straight down the left side from hairline to collar, and another snaked from cheekbone to the bridge of his nose on the right. He almost looked like he'd been daubed with some bizarre red war paint, the impression shattered only by the faint glimmer of moisture in his eyes and the lone tear that escaped to run parallel to the injury. He was in all kinds of pain.

Angel diverted his attention from the demon for a second to raise a comforting hand in the younger vamp's direction.

"Don't!" Spike snapped, wrenching himself away. "Nobody bloody touch me." 

He turned his back on them and hunched his shoulders, trying to ignore the sudden blinding compulsion to scurry back to Sunnydale - _a suggestion that Apollyon must've shoved in his head 'cause he'd had no intention of leaving beforehand._ He straightened, and took a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together. _And this Nancy boy boo-hooing wouldn't do. A bit of the old bluster was called for. If there was one thing he was good at, it was bluster..._

"Right, you..." He stepped menacingly closer to Apollyon. "You never come near me, or any one of my family again. Got that, stumpy boy? We. Are. Done. This place is officially out of business."

That said, he brought the axe to bear on some nearby oil drums, his efforts rewarded when they split open and began leaking what smelt suspiciously like gasoline. He snorted, both in cynicism and at the pervasive odor. It was almost enough to give a bloke a nosebleed.

"Well, that's a fortunate turn of events, innit?" he drawled. "A proper little bonfire to take the chill off. Seems fitting." In spite of his words, the chill remained, glinting like icicles in his unwavering gaze.

Idylla met that gaze for the barest of moments, recognizing his intentions, then gathered her young band of Spikes and hurried for the exits, a deafening combination of whining, cackling and thunderous elephantine footfalls in filling the air. Apollyon cast one last mournful look around his crumbling empire and then followed, passing an incredulously wide-eyed Gunn, who had just arrived.

"Tell those bloody PTB wankers I'm done with them too!" Spike shouted after the Keratos, struggling to be heard over the din.

Gunn held his hand up as if in protest. "Now that's one slimy can of worms I _don't_ wanna open." He shrugged off the weirdness and went on, "Came to see what the hold up was." He indicated the doorway behind him with a jerk of his head. "Vamp-girl's gettin' edgy. Says the sun's almost up."

Angel aimed a self-recriminating kick at the nest-of-snakes tangle of Apollyon's lost limbs, shaking his boot when a persistent suction cap attached itself to the sole. He grimaced. "Will they be alright? The Keratos?"

"Does it matter?" Cordelia screwed her nose up at Angel's predicament, finally taking the sword from him and scraping the sucker away herself. "God, that's gross."

Spike stared fixedly at the expanding pool of gasoline, still fighting against an overwhelming urge to race home to Buffy. After a while he rolled his head from side to side, deflating like a punctured balloon, complete with long hissing exhalation. 

"Don't go worrying your sorry caveman head 'bout that lot, Peaches. Keratos regenerate. He'll be good as new and back to his wicked ways in no time." He pulled his silver lighter from the depths of his duster pocket, idly flicking the lid open and closed with his thumb. He didn't look at them. "Word to the wise, unless you're fond of the crispy-fried look, the more flammable among us might wanna find some cover. Things are about to get a touch heated."

Cordy appeared ready to object, but Angel caught her eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"We'll wait outside," he said simply. "Go ahead and do what you have to."

~[*]~

The van rolled along the highway, almost invisible but for the twin headlights cutting through the thick blanket of pre-dawn fog. It had been travelling along the road for a couple of hours now.

Jonathon sat in the passenger seat, going over a file of printouts. "I can't believe I didn't see it," he muttered, scrutinizing the contents carefully in the dim interior, then paused to amend the statement. "Well, except if you take into account that we've been keeping track of the Eldritch Universe for a while and they'd never released any official merchandise. All we had were those vague descriptiony things in the character archives. So - so you can't blame me, right?" He knew he sounded defensive, but Warren wouldn't really blame him, would he? 

Fortunately Warren didn't seem in a blaming kind of mood. "But since we got hold of the info on the warehouse," he prompted, "And those conceptional drawings for the action figures...?"

Jonathon held up several of the sketches, one after the other. "Cordelia Chase is Jewel, Willow Rosenberg is Charm... God, look at this! Buffy Summers is Annulet! She saved my life a bunch of times and I never once realized..."

"I don't understand how you could just forget people who're all stunning and movie star-like," Andrew said from the rear of the vehicle where he sat, keeping a close eye on several incoming feeds. "I'd remember them. Especially Falchion, and Gladius. I mean, _no one_ that good looking could possibly exist in real life." He sighed dreamily, drifting off for a moment before shaking himself out of it. "So, um, we get to this Sunnydale place, take Buffy-slash-Annulet hostage now she's all powerless and stuff. And then what? Wait for them to find us?"

"Don't be an idiot," Warren snapped. "We auction her off on our site, hand her over to the highest bidder..."

"And then we'll be rich, rich, rich," Jonathon concluded. "Right?"

"You got it, Sparky." 

One of Warren's hands began beating an impatient rhythm against the van's steering wheel and Jonathon watched it anxiously. "But, no one gets hurt? We don't hurt her."

Warren didn't look at him, but his hand stopped its restless movement and he shrugged. "Of course not."

Jonathon glanced over his shoulder and met Andrew's gaze. 

__

Why was it that neither of them found that reassuring?

Andrew turned back to the panel of flickering screens, eyes widening comically when three of them went dark without any warning. "Oh no!" He tapped frantically at the glass of the one nearest him. "Oh no, no, no!" 

Warren didn't take his eyes off the road. "What the hell are you blubbering about?"

"It's gone." The panic in Andrew's voice made it tremble. "Aftertime Creations is gone. What are we supposed to do now?"

TBC...


	9. Connecting The Dots

****

A/N: _So, the Buffy finale finally aired here in the Tasmanian Wilderness, and to celebrate I popped the cork on a vintage bottle of creative juice. It was still surprisingly fresh despite the long shelf life.   
(*_Raises glass in toast_*) Here's to a brand new chapter!  
More coming soon, Dee _**: )**

__

EPISODE NINE  
"Connecting The Dots"

Buffy peeked around the door of the Magic Box, enjoying the novelty of being able to sneak in. Xander had made several attempts at repairing the Spike-damaged bell overhead, but it steadfastly refused to tinkle. She glanced up at it as she slunk inside, pleased with her continued stealth, and then let the door slam loudly behind her. Willow and Tara, both ensconced behind the counter, jumped and let out identical squeaks.

Tara recovered first. "Oh, hey. Its Buffy." A second glance at the grinning Slayer had her gaping. It wasn't that the soft black T-shirt she wore looked suspiciously like one of Spike's old favorites - nothing unusual there, Buffy often borrowed the vamp's clothing - but the fact that it was stretched much tighter than usual over her over-ripe figure. "And can I just go ahead and introduce Seth as a separate person now, 'cause... hoo boy!"

Willow goggled comically. "Oh my Goddess. Did you like, swell up overnight? You look like you're gonna pop any second."

"Don't laugh," Buffy said. "I'm eight months along as of yesterday, it could happen." She waddled across the store and lowered herself into the lone armchair, propping her legs up on the stool in front of her. "Whew! My ankles are so relieved." She sighed, then looked over the clutter-free study desk with interest. "So? Where are all the musty books? I thought Giles was researching."

Giles strode in from the training room, a large, dog-eared volume tucked under his arm. "Did I hear you say eight months?" he asked. "I had no idea you were so close to term."

"Oops, I spoke too soon," Buffy chirped. "Books ahoy." She began drumming the fingers of both hands on her belly. "And yeah, four weeks to go and counting. Hence the increasing abundance."

The Watcher pursed his lips. "Forgive me for asking, Buffy, but you've remained ignorant of so many factors concerning this pregnancy, how is it you're so certain of dates?"

"Uh..." Buffy cringed, trying to formulate a response that wouldn't make his head explode. "Umm, okay. Well, let me put it this way... Spike once said that he'd 'got it right first pop'. 'Nuff said?"

Giles stared at her blankly for a moment, then shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Ah. Yes, quite. Th-thank you for clearing that up."

"His sperm had been inactive for a long time, it was probably pretty potent." Anya meandered into view, a feather duster swinging carelessly from one hand. "Bet those swimmers were all revved up with somewhere to go." She leant over sideward and peered curiously at the book in Giles' possession, reading the title and recognizing it instantly. "Hey, you're contacting The Font."

He glanced at her, surprised, automatically clutching the book closer as if to protect it from scrutiny, before latching onto the comment. _Please, anything that directed the conversation away from the subject of Spike's sperm..._ "You know them?"

The former demon waved the duster airily. "Oh sure. They're an okay bunch for a collective conscience. No fun at Trivia nights though." She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, trying to pin down some elusive memory. "You need Pythian water for the ritual right? Like a whole gallon or something. It's a good thing we got a new shipment in last week."

Buffy frowned after the ex-demon as she sashayed back toward the basement. "I don't have to drink it, do I? 'Cause I gotta say, not having a whole lot of bladder control these days."

Tara shook her head, mouth crooked in a wry smile. "No drinking, we promise."

"It's supposed to have divinatory properties," Willow explained. "Mega-helpful for seeing into the future and stuff like that." She replaced the jar she'd been fossicking in on the shelf behind her and wandered toward them, a sprig of stalky dried herbs in her hand. Rosemary, maybe. "It's named for Pythia, the priestess who used to run the Oracle at Delphi. Ancient Greece. Very cool."

Tara grabbed what appeared to be a large crystal punch bowl from the counter and followed her out. She set it in the center of the table, causing the built-in lighting to shine through it in a prismatic glow.

"_Another_ oracle?" Buffy whined, disregarding the goings-on. "Won't that be a huge waste of time? Last time one of those showed it's... well, it's _voice_ around here, she wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details." She pouted. _Stupid Herald._

"I'm not contacting the Oracle itself," Giles said. "I'm contacting the Font of Knowledge."

Buffy stared at him, bug-eyed. "There's an actual Font of Knowledge? How long have you known about this and why wasn't I made aware of it back in high school? A study-free Buffy would have been an extra-time-for-slaying Buffy."

"Motivations like that are precisely why it's existence is kept secret. It's not something to be taken lightly." Giles took the herbs from Willow and crushed the leaves between his fingers, sprinkling them across the tabletop in a sweeping anti-clockwise motion, carefully avoiding getting any in the bowl itself. "Furthermore, added time for slaying during that period would presumably have led to Spike's dusty demise, and where would that leave you now?"

Instead of replying, Buffy followed his actions avidly. "Wait. You're doing it now? And here?"

"Is there any particular reason why not now and here?"

"'Cause I really have to go...? Somewhere else. More important?" she hedged, then sighed at her Watcher's level stare. "Or not." 

He narrowed his gaze, studying the pale oval of her face a little closer, concern furrowing his brow. "Are you quite alright? You look tired."

Buffy shrugged. "I had bad dreams last night. Not Slayery, just kinda creepy. Demons and fighting. And there was a fire of the Towering Inferno variety. Oh, and I woke up with these strange polka-dotty marks on my face, but they're all gone now."

Anya re-emerged from the basement, balancing a blue-toned plastic bottle in each hand like some B-grade celebrity promoting a designer brand. 

"Pythian water," she announced. "Fresh from pristine Grecian climes to you. Will that be cash or charge?" That earned her a withering glance from Giles to which she gave an exasperated huff. "I was making a joke. Playful banter among friends. I _can_ do that, you know. I have a very well developed sense of humor."

"Yes, you have me rolling in the aisles continually," he said drolly. "Please, just... pour it in the bowl."

She aimed a suspicious look in his direction, but did as he asked. The light shimmering through the crystalline of the punch bowl now diffused even further by the water. 

Willow rested her head against Tara's shoulder. "Ooh, pretty." 

Tara made an agreeing hmm-ing noise.

Giles placed the book on the table and pushed his glasses further up his nose as he scrutinized the faded glyphs on the page before him. "I believe we're about ready to..."

"Oh, wait!" Willow thrust both hands out like she was trying to prevent an accident, then scrambled toward the counter. "The wreath."

Buffy blinked. "We need a wreath?" She tipped her head curiously. "Somebody gonna die?"

"It's a laurel wreath," Giles clarified.

"Somebody gonna be Caesar?"

"That would be you." Willow sniggered and plopped the coronet of dried leaves onto the Slayer's head. "Congratulations."

Buffy did not look pleased. "I'm assuming this has something to do with your spell, and nothing to do with making me look like the queen of dead grassy stuff?"

Giles sighed. "According to many noted texts, laurel communicates with the spirits of prophecy. It was custom to crown all Oracle Priestess in just this way." 

"Cute," Buffy deadpanned. "And not in any way clashy with my outfit." She leant down to speak confidentially to the contour of her stomach. "I hope you appreciate this, mister."

Giles was once again absorbed in the book, going over the spell for the millionth time, making sure he was prepared. 

"P-please excuse the extreme pompousness of the translation's wording. It may sound very, um..." He twitched, slightly self-conscious, then cleared his throat and began to read aloud. "'We beseech thee, O Golden Apollo, fire-robed prince of Delphi and God of all our suns, to permit access to your supreme Font of Knowledge. Grant us the counsel of your many surrogate tongues, so that the worthy petition of our Priestess may be answered.'" 

Anya screwed up her nose. "Doesn't sound much different from normal Giles-speak if you ask me." Nobody did.

The Watcher stopped and checked back over what he'd just recited, distracted by the content. _How odd that he'd only just noticed... _"Hmm," he mused. "Yet another reference to 'Golden' and more than one sun. I wonder if...?"

"Giles!"

Willow squeaking his name soon returned his focus to the ritual at hand. The water in the bowl had begun to froth and bubble. One could almost have said it was boiling, except that there was no accompanying heat or rising steam. The bubbling slowed after a moment, the water thickening like molasses while still remaining crystal clear. The aerated globules were now struggling to form in the gelatinous liquid, but when each did, it was in the guise of a face. Many different faces, diverse in their heritage. Old, young; male, female; human, demon: all races, sizes and shapes. 

Anya peered over Giles' shoulder and waved. "Hi guys! Remember me?"

An impossibly large bubble transformed into the visage of a beautiful young Asian girl. "Anyanka," she said, before disappearing with a muted _pop_ and then remolding again in the form of an elderly male Wijego demon with gnarled horns. "It is good to see you again. We would ask how you are, but-" _Pop_: a child of indeterminate age, "- we already know."

"Fascinating," Giles murmured.

Buffy rolled her eyes, extracting herself from the armchair and trudging over to see what all the fuss was about. "Hello? Priestess wanting answers right here."

__

Pop: a rather obese woman with hideous teeth grinned at them but didn't say anything, she was replaced by a bearded young man who looked a little like Xander. "The answers you seek are to be found within," he said.

"No! Really? You're kidding?" The Slayer did not bother to hold back on the sarcasm. She gave Giles a sour look, the laurel wreath slipping down over one eye only to be shoved impatiently back into place. "Told you this was a waste of time. Most of these Oracle thingies know diddly."

__

Pop-pop-pop. 

The Font seemed irritated by Buffy's dismissive attitude, the thick, syrupy bubbles churning more rapidly, several faces morphing together in tacit disapproval, before coagulating back into the wizened features of the Wijego demon they'd observed earlier.

"Chosen One, you disrespect us," he said in a deep, gravelly voice.

Buffy gasped in pretend disappointment. "Damn. What gave me away?"

Giles gave her a stern look, which, as was entirely usual, did nothing to quell the Slayer's capricious nature.

She glared up at him, keeping the precarious wreath straight with one hand while the other curled supportively around her belly. "I'm exhausted, my ankles are killing me, my other half is currently gallivanting around Los Angeles and, from what I can gather link-wise, blowing things up. I am not in the mood for cryptic Oracle-y demons." She shifted from one foot to the other. "Also, I think Nipper might be playing football with one of my internal organs."

As she spoke, the face of the Wijego abruptly popped, the Pythian water mutating into the form of a cherubic little human boy around three or four years old. 

"Oh. God." This time Buffy's gasp was entirely genuine. Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes and she reached tentatively toward the boy, one finger extended to trace the outline of his rounded cheek, a gesture so painstakingly gentle that she didn't once break the water's surface. 

Giles adjusted his glasses and squinted into the bowl, trying to discern what it was about the child that had spooked her so. The manifestation smirked at him, an expression that should have been alien on his innocent features, but was instead horribly familiar. He knew that smirk. "Dear Lord!" he exclaimed. "It's..."

"Seth." Buffy's whisper was a fragile, broken thing. She was holding herself together by the barest thread, but managed a tremulous smile at the beautiful face of her son. "Hello, my littlest guy." _Her heart felt like bursting from the sheer magnitude of it._ _If only Spike was here..._

"How is that possible? That's not possible, right? He hasn't been born yet so he hasn't got a properly established physical form. And-" Willow's innate curiosity got the better of her and she peered over Buffy's shoulder, her brow wrinkled in confusion. "-And ...Holy cow! He looks just like Spike! I mean, if Spike was smaller and cuter and made of soda's evil twin." Her gaze darted from the apparition to Buffy's stomach and back again. "Well, gosh darn it, I wish we could tell what color his eyes are." 

Buffy peered at her from the corner of her eye, brows raised. 

"We're kinda running a pool," Willow explained sheepishly. Her eyes went wide. "Oh! A gene pool! I made a funny. Go me!"

"Blue," Seth piped up proudly, causing the redhead to break into a silent celebratory jig. "I have blue eyes. Jus' like Spike. That's my Dad, but I don't call him that 'cause it sounds bloody stupid." 

His childish voice was tinged with the faintest hint of his father's accent, and Buffy was torn between laughing and crying and fighting off a bizarrely Mom-ish urge to chastise him for his language. This was so totally insane.

The tiny liquid face pouted; nose scrunched, lower lip jutting out, revealing that he had inherited several of his mother's attributes after all. "These other people say that my eyes'll only be blue if the Guardians get their act together. The rift's gotta be fixed first." A thoughtful pause then, "What's a rift? Is it like a raft? They sound sorta the same, but not rhyme-y. Spike tells me good rhymes."

"Precocious, isn't he?" Giles mused. "Quite extraordinary, really."

Seth giggled, causing the Pythian water to ripple in an alarming fashion. Miraculously the face-bubble held its shape. "You're funny, Poppy G."

"_P-p-p-_" Giles spluttered, incredulous, and gaped at Buffy. "_Poppy G?_ Who on earth gave him permission to call me that? Has he no respect? I sound like some... some hippity-hopping street thug. A-and to have the temerity to call his own father by that horrid nickname..." He ground to a halt and sighed. "Oh, what am I saying? This is simply a conjectural image. Seth's consciousness is nowhere near this far developed."

Buffy shook her head in firm disagreement. "No. It's really him." She grinned. "Poppy G."

"Now, you stop that at once!" Giles admonished. "And don't go spreading it about. I have a reputation to uphold." They all giggled at that, including Seth, and the Watcher pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. The lad had given him an instant Spike-headache. He hoped that wasn't a sign that he was evil. "I believe you mentioned a rift? Will the 'other people' in the Font tell us about that?"

One of Seth's watery brows quirked, seemingly involuntarily, followed by a Slayer-like roll of the eyes. "Sure." The way he said it sounded remarkably similar to '_Duh!'_ There was a slight lull before he spoke again. "Bas says that Mom and Spike are makin' the link act all wonky 'cause they're scared an' if they just work together it'll fix by itself."

Giles allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation. It was just as he'd theorized earlier; the Gemel themselves were the cause, they were projecting their fears onto each other - a lack of communication, of all ironies. He nodded along thoughtfully, then frowned, confused. "I'm sorry, who is this 'Bas' person?"

"One of the guys in here." The Seth-bubble turned as though looking behind him, giving them his profile. "Bassey-lisp or sumptin' like that... He's a hy-oooge green monster man." He let out a silly little tittering noise. "Looks like a big fat booger."

Willow nudged Tara with her hip to get her attention, then tapped the tip of her nose. "Buffy's bump," she whispered knowingly. "Xander's toast. I'm totally going to scoop that pool."

"Bassey-" Giles' brow crumpled into thoughtful furrows. "Seth, are you talking about Basilisk?"

"Yeah. He looks like a booger dun't he, Poppy G?"

Buffy grabbed her Watcher's arm. "Who's the Booger Monster?" she demanded. "Seth's not in danger is he?"

Giles winced. For someone not at her maximum strength, his Slayer had a bone-crushingly powerful grip. "Basilisk is, or was, the king of a band of mythical lizard-like creatures. I uncovered several vague references to him in my original research concerning the Serpiente. I'm inclined to believe that he was actually a Keratos demon."

"You didn't mention that." Buffy's stare could have fried him on the spot. Her fingers dug in harder. "Why didn't you mention that?"

"Buffy, I hardly think this is an appropriate time to..." He took a steadying breath. "I have been admittedly lax in my Watcher duties of late, but that does not exonerate Spike or yourself from any blame in this situation. Seth has just explained that your own misgivings are..."

"Mommy, where's Spike at?"

The fearful little voice sliced right through her, leaving her in a state of numb panic. God, if she couldn't get her head on straight, this miracle child didn't stand a chance. "He's, um, he's... _at work _right now, sweetie."

"Oh. Work. Like slayin' stuff, huh? Not regular work like Uncle Xan does." Seth's concerned face became introspective, listening to something, or someone else. "'Falshun has 'liminated the pos'ble fret'," he recited after a moment, obviously being coached. "'All will be made well on his return'." He snorted. "Bas is stupid. He talks weird."

"That was a Spike-snort!" Willow blurted, buoyed by her continued success in scooping the Gene Pool. She bobbled on the spot and then squeezed Tara excitedly.

Tara squeezed back, then pulled away to give her a firm look. "Focus, baby. This isn't about you."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

Buffy didn't even hear the exchange. Her gaze was riveted to Seth's face, almost as though she was trying to memorize every feature, every nuance of expression. The tears she'd been holding back mounted a new offensive at Slayer Dam, breaking through fortifications to trickle down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"What for?" Seth gave a birdlike tilt of his head. "Didja break somethin' again?"

"Yeah. Kinda looks that way." She bowed her head, not even bothering to fix the wreath when it slipped down onto the bridge of her nose, obscuring her view. "It's my fault that the rift happened. My fault the link almost broke. I'll fix it, though. I promise."

"Hokay." Seth's acceptance was automatic, no doubt at all in his voice; Mom _always_ kept her promises. He blinked a couple of times, lids drooping before forcibly widening again. "Don' need a nap," he declared. "'M not tired."

Buffy smiled. "No, baby, you go to sleep now. I'll see you soon."

"Awright then. Bye Mommy. Love you."

"I love you, too." 

The bubble began expanding before she'd even finished speaking, but didn't pop, instead dissolving in on itself and flattening until it was just a regular bowl of water again. 

Giles reached out in a jerky stop-start motion and rescued the laurel wreath, which was in grave danger of toppling from the Slayer's head into the water. "Well, that was ...enlightening, to say the least."

"So, Spike's gotta come back, right?" Anya asked. "I mean, that was the gist of the whole thing. He's gotta come back to fix the rift."

"It appears so. Although revealing the finer details of how that may happen didn't seem to occur to them." 

"Spike never should have left in the first place," Buffy said, finally looking away from the bowl to gaze at them each in turn. "My letting him think that I didn't want him around... That was wrong. And stupid. And he was even stupider for believing me." There was a clear light in her eyes, a spark that hadn't been there for months. "We're a family. It's about time we figured out what that means."

~[*]~

Xander Harris, designated Slay-buddy, was running as fast as his too-human legs would allow. Unfortunately it wasn't proving fast enough. He skirted around a broken headstone, trying to keep Buffy in sight as she chased after a runaway fledgling. _Man, less than a month from delivering her and Spike's little bundle of joy, and she was still leaving him in the dust. _

Literally.

He choked as he ran right through the vamp's cloudy remains, hands flapping wildly at the air around his face. "_UGH!_ _Gack! _That stuff just does not taste good. Why can't I ever inhale a better flavored...? And I'm not going to finish that sentence."

Buffy grinned, tucking Mr. Pointy into one pocket, then producing a brown paper bag from another and offering it to him. "Peanut chaser?"

He glanced at the bag, then back at her face. "Post-slayage munchies?"

"More like post-Oracle-thing munchies," she said, scavenging through the contents for a nut that actually had fruit and wasn't just fragments of shell from her previous forays. "Kinda depressed about the whole needing Spike to be here and him being not. Here."

"You guys've been doing it tough lately, huh?" Xander fell into step beside the Slayer as she headed toward the cemetery gates, leaving a trail of discarded peanut shells in her wake.

She shrugged off the question. "Who doesn't? Relationships are tough. That's life."

"Or un-life, as with you and Dead Boy."

Buffy stopped and scowled at him. "Spike's not dead. He's..."

"Dead," Xander supplied blithely. "He's a vampire. Nothing's ever gonna change that, not even the nifty breathing-and-beating-heart thing he's got going."

She was seriously peeved now, arms folded over the swell of her stomach. "Spike. Is. Not. Dead." Each word was hissed through her clenched teeth. "Seth wouldn't be here if he was."

Xander hated when she did that, forcefully drawing his attention to the fact of Seth's existence. He was painfully aware of Buffy and Spike's connection, but when it came to the physical side of things he quite liked having his head buried in the sand, thank you very much. The view was much less confrontational than having the impending spawn of the Bleached Wonder shoved in his face at every opportunity. 

He took a deep breath, ready to continue on his anti-Spike diatribe, then let it out again, startled by the glimpse of something in her eyes. Something he hadn't expected, something rare that he hadn't seen for a very, very long time. 

Buffy was scared.

No, more than that, Buffy was absolutely terrified.

He hadn't been around for the ritual or it's aftermath, but if it was having this kind of effect... "Okay, so why don't you tell Uncle Xander what's really freaking you out?"

She avoided his eyes, suddenly enthralled with the contents of the paper bag. "Rift."

"The blurting of random nouns is not so big with explaining goodness."

"There's a rift in the link. Rifts R Us."

"But that can be fixed, right? I'm guessing the whole 'permanent' thing still stands?"

"Oh yeah. It's not like the Grand Canyon or anything. Not even a rift really, more like... a glitch. A tiny, microscopic glitch. Totally fixable. Something about Spike having to be here for something... else." Buffy wrinkled her nose at a dubious fragment dug up from her excavations - _Hmm, shell or nut?_ _Better safe than sorry - _and tossed it aside_. _"Or something."

"Not buying the little Miss Flippy act on offer there, Buff." Xander ducked his head, trying to meet her eyes. "C'mon, let the scaredy cat out of the bag."

"Well..." Her shoulders hitched self-consciously. "We're sorta having to rely on the do-it-yourself guide to rift-fixing. Seth didn't leave an instruction manual, so all we know is Spike comes home and somehow, _'poof!'_ - no more rift." She scowled. "Not that we know exactly what _that_ is either." _Font of Knowledge, my ass._

"So, to sum up, you don't know what it is, or how to fix it."

"Uh huh. And there's also the fact that the whole thing is possibly my fault to begin with."

Xander mulled that over. "The fight at the Magic Box is beginning to make sense..."

"Oh no, it started _way_ before that." Buffy scrunched the paper bag into a tiny ball and tossed it back over her shoulder. It ricocheted off a couple of headstones before coming to rest in the grass. "I think because of commitment fear."

The brunette was aghast. "Spike wouldn't commit? What a jerk! I knew there was a reason I hated that guy..."

"No. Spike... God, Spike couldn't be more committed. He's a committee. He's like, monogamy personified."

"Still not seeing the problem."

"I can't seem to... Everyone I've ever loved has left me; Angel, my Dad, Mom..." She choked over the lump in her throat. "Okay, so I didn't really love Riley, but there's another big red check in the leaving me column..."

"In your Mom's defense, leaving you? Not her choice."

"I know that. The point is I've developed a tendency to push people away when they get too close, a pre-emptive strike kinda thing. Only now, I might have pushed so hard that something broke. Something beautiful and precious and..." She stifled a sob. "...And what if we _can't_ fix it? What if my stupid cold feet have stomped over any chance of us being a proper family?" She brushed at the tears on her cheeks and gazed at him expectantly, wanting him to tell her it would be okay.

Xander stared at her for a long time, his thoughts in a jumble. What he said next was the last thing she was expecting.

"I've been carrying a ring around in my pocket for three months."

Buffy blinked. "Huh?"

"After the Double-Xander thing, when I landed that promotion, it was like something clicked. Everything started to make sense. I had the steady job, the great apartment. All that was missing was the perfect little missus. So I bought this." A tiny blue velveteen box was pulled from his coat pocket and jiggled in one hand. "But then I started thinking; Anya has been alive for over a thousand years, she's seen and done things that I can't even begin to wrap my head around. What can I offer her that's gonna compare to that?"

"Jeez, is this that whole inadequacy thing again? We've been down that road. Recently. You can still see the footprints." She rolled her eyes at his feeble-mindedness. "Anya loves _you_, you dope. Normal Joe Construction Worker you, sawdust and all. Nothing else should matter."

Xander nodded. "See, that's the same conclusion I came to after your pep talk." He opened the box, showing her the empty cushion inside. "She said 'yes'." 

Buffy was beyond stunned. "Oh. My. God!"

Xander put the box away and rested his hands on her shoulders, gazing at her with utter sincerity. "Buffy, if you love Spike, I mean really love him, then nothing else should matter."

The Slayer gawped like a fish, trying to assimilate what she'd just heard. "You're... right." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Who are you and what have you done with Xander?"

He smiled. "Very funny."

She grinned back, shifting forward to grab him in a rib-cracking hug. "Congratulations! I'm so happy for you!"

"And with the remaining air in my lungs, I thank you," he wheezed.

She pulled away, wincing sympathetically, but Xander just stared distractedly over her head. 

__

Something was rustling in the bushes behind the ever-popular Alpert Crypt. Probably another fledgling - they were drawn to the place like bees to honey. Maybe the crypt had the same demon attracting issues he did. Had they ever looked into that?

Buffy turned, curious. "What are you looking at?"

Xander squinted for a moment longer, but couldn't discern any further movement. "Nothing, I guess." He turned his attention back to her. "You'll be okay?"

She placed a hand on his forearm, offering reassurance. "I'll be fine, Xan. Just a bit freaked about having a one-on-one conversation with somebody who's not born yet."

"Yeah, I can see how that might induce wiggage."

The crackle of someone stepping on Buffy's discarded paper bag made them both turn back in that direction. They barely had time to register the presence of the three dark Chloroform-wielding figures before unconsciousness took them.  
  
TBC...


	10. Baby, Come Back!

**__**

EPISODE TEN  
"Baby, come back!"

Spike was sprawled on the ottoman seat, rubbing at his breastbone and scowling darkly. Even though it had been several hours earlier, he was still slightly charred around the edges from the destruction of the Aftertime Creations warehouse. Soot dusted the tips of his hair and the tip of his nose, and the piquant smell of smoke lingered around him like cologne.

"Peanuts now is it?" he muttered cryptically. "Stupid bint should know better. Bleedin' menace is what she is."

Cordelia sat down beside him. "Talking to yourself, huh?" she asked brightly. "Anything interesting come up in the conversation?"

Apparently the blonde vampire hadn't heard her coming and he recoiled, startled by her sudden appearance. His head snapped back and every muscle in his body went taut. He eyed her warily for a moment, then blushed and glanced away. "Umm... No, nothin'."

"Doesn't look like nothing." Cordelia surprised herself by reaching out and placing her hand over his where it was still worrying his chest. "Are you in pain?"

Spike froze when she made contact, eyes widening in consternation. "No." He brushed her hand away and edged a few inches to his left, wanting desperately to distance himself. Girl was too perceptive for her own good, something that had to be part of that newfangled Warrior soul of hers 'cause she hadn't been much of an empathic sort previously.

"Angel told me what's going on," she said. "You know, with Buffy."

"Did he? No secrets then? Nice for you that he's all open book like."

"Yeah, it is. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Spike snorted. "Don't go stickin' your nose in, missy. My private business has nothin' to do with you."

"See, that's where you're wrong."

He raised his brows at that, curious but not really encouraging her to expand on the statement. She did anyway.

"Here's the deal. Angel and me, we're family now. And because he's your Sire, he's got this whole protective thing going on." Spike opened his mouth to protest and she waved a hand to shush him. "No, he does. Believe me. He's exactly the same with the other one."

Once again, she had refused to say Drusilla's name and Spike had to bite his tongue to keep from commenting on it. So what if the girl had issues with Dru? Wasn't like he could throw stones.

"In a weird-ass way, all that kinda means you're a part of my family now, too. I'm just trying to be the supportive Step-Mom."

"Step-Sire," Spike corrected blandly, more touched by her declaration than he wanted to let on.

"I like mine better. Sire's such a guy word."

"Horse word actually, those and bunch of other domestic animals. Bandied about for pedigree purposes mostly, stud farms and the like."

"Okay, I did not need to hear that." Cordelia made a gagging sound. "Big _EWW_ to that imagery."

Spike sighed. "So, you goin' anywhere with this buddy-buddy routine, or you just out to annoy me to death?"

"Judging from what Angel had to say, I won't need to. You're gonna stubborn yourself there first."

"Oh. I get it. Sent you out here, din't he? Figured you'd appeal to my softer side."

"Watch your mouth, buster. There was no sending of any kind. I'm not exactly one of Angel's obedient minions. This was all my idea." She paused, bewildered. "You have a softer side?"

He let that slide and made a show of peering suspiciously around the lobby. "Surprised you've not got that green bloke with the horns out here as well. Lurkin' about. Tryin' to clap his beady ears on my vocal vibes..." 

"Lorne's on tour."

That produced an encore of the raised-eyebrow routine. "He _tours_? With who, Ringling Brothers? Barnum and sodding Bailey? Thought freakshows were illegal nowadays."

"Would you shelve the self-defensive quip-a-thon for a sec? We're trying to help you."

"No. You're all gangin' up is what you're doing. All set to push me in the right direction, make Spike do the proper thing. Sorry kitten, but this is one vamp who doesn't like to be pushed." He was up and off in a flash.

"Alright. Fine." Cordy flung her hands up. "Do what you like."

"I will."

She waited until he was partway up the stairs before speaking again. "You really don't remember what Doyle told you, huh?"

Spike spun around, pinning her with those intense winter-sky eyes of his. "What's that?"

"After Pylea. After that whole 'Hey demon-Cordy, feel free to boink Angel anytime you want, he's easy!' speech."

The blonde vamp struggled against a threatening smile and won by the barest of margins. He leant one hip against the banister and crossed his arms. "Easy, eh?"

"So very, _VERY_," Cordelia revealed candidly. "Guy's definitely making up for lost time, let me tell you. Take yesterday for an example, he..." She tapered off and shook herself slightly, cheeks flushing. "Hey! Remember the part where I was talking about Doyle?"

Spike smirked. "Believe I've a vague recollection of his being mentioned right before the chit-chat got interesting. You gonna keep goin' with that or -?"

She rolled her eyes. "And back on topic... My brain was sorta going all kaplooey at the time, but I can remember him telling you and Buffy that you'd have to stay strong. _As a couple_."

He frowned, wandering back down a few steps. "That right? Can't say as it rings any bells."

Cordy grimaced, and stared at her hands. "Look. Spike. It's pretty obvious that Angel and I aren't gonna be doing the whole picket fence thing. We're not going to be playing house and churning out little army of champions. I'm not a hundred percent happy about it, but that's the way it's got to be." She looked back up at him, as sincere as she'd ever been. "You've got the golden opportunity here, a real shot at the prize, and suddenly your aim's gone off. I can't understand why."

"Well, when I find out, you'll be the next I tell." Spike sat down right there on the stairs, rubbing a weary hand across his face. "I was so bloody certain it was all Buffy's doing, but the more I..."

He paused, and both he and Cordelia lifted their heads, turning synchronously toward the other staircase.

Angel came thumping down it a moment later. "I've got it."

"What? A bad case of brood-itis?" Spike tipped his chin slyly at Cordy. "Reckon it makes him especially scowly this time of day, yeah?"

The older vampire didn't acknowledge the blonde's gibe. "There's nothing wrong with the link."

Spike bolted to his feet. "There bloody well is too!"

"No, there isn't. Wes..."

"You pulled Junior in? When did you get such a sodding blabbermouth?"

"...Was asking about the baby earlier, and it suddenly hit me. During these episodes of yours, the heartbeat doesn't stop. It speeds up."

"What's your point? Either way it's a bleedin' painful way to go."

Angel sighed. "I realize it's difficult, but could you stop being a jerk for a minute and think about what I'm saying?"

"Hmm..." Spike tilted his head, tapping one finger against his cheek in an exaggerated thoughtful pose, then his eyes widened. "Oh. Oh, bloody hell," he whispered. "Bloody buggering hell."

Cordelia was on the edge of her seat, intrigued by the abrupt change in Spike's attitude. "Can I be the first to say, what the huh?"

Angel allowed himself a small smile, satisfied that he'd instigated a breakthrough. "I'm not sure of the specifics yet, but I think that during the attacks, Spike's somehow tapping into the baby's heartbeat. My guess is that the contact is actually filtered through Buffy."

"Spike's linked to Buffy, and Buffy's physically linked to the baby." Cordy nodded. "That makes a twisted kind of sense since he's still getting her indigestion and stuff."

Angel plopped down next to her, absently reaching for her hand and holding it as he watched Spike pace back and forth on the landing like a caged animal. _The boy was a ticking time bomb; you could almost see the fuse burning._ "Wait for it," he murmured quietly.

"Wait for what?" she hissed back, only to startle at the sharp sound of glass breaking. 

Spike had punched through the ornate panes of the door in his frustration and now stood with his back to his audience, staring at his bleeding knuckles, fingers clenching and flexing rhythmically.

"You're gonna have to pay for that, you know," Angel said coolly.

"Take it out of my bloody allowance," Spike growled over his shoulder. He raised a foot onto the stairs, all set to stalk back up the flight in a frustrated huff, when his momentum was interrupted by a sudden onslaught from the link so powerful it sent him reeling backward. 

The vampire's heavy boots crunched across the fragmented glass as he stumbled, ultimately collapsing onto the lobby's patterned linoleum.

Angel was instantly by his side, crouching down to rest a hand on his shoulder. Cordelia hovered behind him, a solicitous shadow in designer jeans.

"Is this like what happened before?" she asked. "'Cause yikes!"

The older vampire shook his head, observing the tremors that wracked Spike's otherwise still form. Weirdly, his heartbeat remained strong and steady. "No. This is... different."

Spike abruptly jerked into a sitting position, mouth opened in a silent scream, fighting blindly against Angel's restraining grip. His eyes were wild, deep blue shot through with unnatural slivers of green and gold. The agonized cry that finally tore from his throat it was almost unrecognizable as human, raw and savage...

"_BUFFY!"_

~[*]~

The Slayer's head snapped up and her captors all took an unwitting step backward, startled by the maelstrom in her eyes. Yellow battling against green with faint flashes of blue. 

"Back off, monkey boy," she snarled to the closest of them.

"Okey-doke. See? This is me backing off." Andrew did just that, shuffling in reverse gear until he bumped into the wall. His eyes darted around at the others, gauging their reactions, and then returned to stare disbelievingly at Buffy. She returned his gaze, her lips curved in a feral smile, teeth bared and oddly fang-like. It was really disturbing. "I don't like this," he mumbled.

Warren shot him a derisive glance. "Well, _DUH_!"

"Hey, this kidnapping thing was your idea. No one was supposed to get hurt."

"Its _kidnapping_, genius! There's a certain level of violence associated with committing felony crimes. Besides, does she _look_ like she's hurt?"

Andrew looked. 

Buffy was pacing tiger-like along the bars of the cell they'd put her in, back and forth, steady and watchful. Xander lay in an unconscious heap behind her, slumped against the rear wall. He'd been hit with the same high-level dosage of Chloroform they'd used on the Slayer and hadn't stirred at all except to let out an occasional snore.

Andrew cringed; knowing that what he was about to say would only end with him being berated for sympathetic tendencies. "She's a helpless having-a-baby-woman, Warren, we shouldn't be doing this to her."

"She's Annulet, you whining putz. She could kick our asses from this dimension to the next if she was at her full strength."

"We get that," Jonathon finally spoke up, dredging an ounce of courage from some disused inner compartment. "Believe me. Hence the cowering in fear part. What we don't get so much is the freaky swirling eyeballs, not to mention the unwarranted name-calling. I mean, what the hell?"

Warren pinched his lips between his thumb and forefinger, narrowed gaze moving silently from one to the other, before coming to rest on Buffy and staying there. It was difficult to determine whether he was thinking really hard or about to erupt in a fit of temper. Neither was an appealing option. "It's gotta have something to do with the Nexus," he finally mused, more to himself than to the others. "Her connection with Falchion is trying to reassert itself. Fascinating, really."

"Nice impersonation of Mage, dude, but that's not gonna get us anywhere is it?" Jonathon said sourly.

"Mage would know exactly what to do here, wouldn't he?" Warren smiled, though not in a particularly nice way. "Maybe we should go and pick him up, too? Get ourselves the full set."

"Okay, that's not at the top of my list of fun things to try with all-knowing wizards," Andrew put in warily. He looked fretfully back at the Slayer, his eyes widening as he saw fresh mottling on the knuckles of her left hand. It spread even as he watched, blossoming into a pattern of vivid red lines, like gashes but without actual broken skin. "Uh, Warren? What's wrong with her?"

"What?"

"Her hand. Look at her hand."

Warren stared, Jonathon peering around his shoulder like a cub sheltering behind its mother. "The Nexus again," he finally concluded. "Falchion probably just picked up a nasty injury."

"Huh." Andrew blinked. "That's pretty cool, I guess. And it is kinda lucky that we picked her up now, 'cause that last upload from AI said that her power loss would only be a temporary thing. Like a break in transmission."

"I hate those," Jonathon observed. "I lost a half episode of 'Enterprise' last time the local station did that."

Warren and Andrew nodded in heartfelt commiseration, only to jump when Buffy let out a gut-wrenching howl.

"Holy crap!" Jonathon blurted, one hand clutching his chest. "She almost gave me a heart attack!"

All three watched with eyes like saucers as she grabbed onto the bars with both hands, squeezing them until her knuckles went white and the metal warped around her fists. Instead of pulling them apart and escaping like they feared she would, she kept holding on and sank down into a crouch, rocking ever so slightly on the balls of her feet, tousled blonde curls hanging down over her face. After a moment, her head lifted and she stared at them with eyes that were now a pure demonic yellow.

"You morons have no idea how much trouble you're in," she hissed through gritted teeth. "I think I just went into labor."

~[*]~

Angel could taste blood, but he couldn't quite tell if it was from his split lip or his newly broken nose. Next time Spike needed to be moved, he was getting Cordy to do it. 

The trip from the floor to the corner sofa had been brief but painfully violent. The younger vampire had fought every step of the way, kicking and swearing, making repeated breaks for the door and yelling Buffy's name, before another mysterious attack had finally taken him down. The whole production seemed to have exhausted him for now, so Angel was counting his blessings. 

"He's getting worse," he commented.

Spike groaned, the sound rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, powerful enough to make the sofa vibrate. His eyes were open and unfocused, flickering through the same triad of colors over and over. 

Blue... Green... Gold...

Cordy glanced up from dabbing Spike's forehead with a damp cloth. "Gee, ya think?"

Angel tried to pout at her sarcastic tone, but ended up wincing instead. Damn lip. "We can't wait for the others to check in. We have to get him back to Buffy now."

"I know." Cordy sighed, returning to her forehead swabbing duties. "If this is link-based..."

"There's nothing else it could be." Angel turned and headed for the office. "I'll leave a note."

Both front and back doors opened simultaneously. 

Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan, lately of the Pylean dimension, burst through the first in a tornado of luggage. He was resplendent in a canary yellow suit and blue paisley print shirt that went stunningly with his green skin. 

The rest of the Angel Investigations team entered more sedately from the other and halted on seeing the situation, taking in Spike's lifeless body and Angel's battered face.

"Oh good gracious," Fred gasped, hands covering her face in horror. 

Wesley put a consoling arm around the young scientist's shoulders. "I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks," he murmured. He didn't sound at all convincing.

Lorne hadn't yet noticed anything. 

"Hi-de-ho!" he trilled. "Behold the triumphant return of-" He finally paused to take in the tableau. "-The vamp with kaleidoscope eyes." He dumped his travel paraphernalia and hustled the rest of the way inside. "What in the name of Tarkna is going on?"

"Sorry, but that's one story way to long to get into right now," Cordy brushed her hair back from her face and looked over at the other arrivals. "Tell me you've got news."

"We have news," Dru responded smartly. Despite her tone, there was genuine concern in her eyes when she moved close enough to see the real extent of Spike's condition. She whimpered and started to wring her hands, slender fingers twisting together. "Dear William needs to be returning home."

"Our thoughts exactly," Angel told her, shrugging into his coat. "What happened on the van-tracking front? Any leads?"

Gunn gave Dru's hand-wringing performance a worried glance, then pulled a notebook from the rear pocket of his jeans. "First couple on the list were a bust, but lucky number three?" He made a face that could have been fear or disgust. "Warren Meers. Judging by the amount of geek-boy stuff in his apartment, the guy's got some major,_ major_ problems; least of which being the fact that he lives with two other fairy-lovin' types. A Jonathon Levinson, and an Andrew... somebody. Couldn't find any more ID than that, but he was definitely a resident. Half the food was labeled as his."

Cordy climbed to her feet. "What was the first roomies name again?"

Gunn flipped back through his notes. "Jonathon Lev-"

"Jonathon Levinson." Cordy's upper lip curled in a contemptuous sneer. "That little weasel!"

"You know him?" Angel sounded surprised, then frowned suspiciously. "How do you know him?" His tone turned querulous. "Is he one of your old boyfriends?"

Cordelia looked aghast. "Okay, firstly, a world of gross! The guy is like three feet tall, all of which is pure, unadulterated nerd-meat. Secondly, I know him because he's a native of the Hellmouth and a fellow graduate of the late, great Sunnydale High." 

"It would be quite feasible, then, to assume that he'd be familiar with Buffy," Wesley noted. "Which would also mean..."

The former Watcher was interrupted by Spike's growl, a sound like rolling thunder accompanied this time by his bolting upright. He looked around confusedly, swaying a little where he sat, fingers pressing to his temple. "Bu-" His voice cracked and he swallowed painfully before trying again. "Buffy?" 

"For God's Sake, lie down!" Cordelia pushed at his chest. "You'll fall over again."

Spike seized hold of her wrist in a move that was nothing but a lightning-fast blur, his fingers exceptionally pale against her tanned skin. "Stop. Pushing. ME," he snarled, pressing hard enough to hurt. 

There was no recognition in his face, and he tilted his head, dark brows knitting together as though he was trying to puzzle out who she was and why he'd grabbed her. 

She blinked at down him, startled by his strength and suddenly more scared of him than she'd ever been. The chaos in his eyes was especially spooky at close range, sucking her in like a whirlpool. 

Angel loomed over his Childe, furious. "Let her go!" 

"No." With her free hand, and without once dropping Spike's hypnotic gaze, Cordelia reached out and intercepted Angel's tightly clenched fist. "No. It's okay." 

He stepped closer anyway, willing to knock Spike silly despite her assurances, then paused when he noticed that her own eyes had begun to change, going milky white with what she laughingly called her vision-vision. "Cordy?"

He got no answer. They just continued to stare blindly at each other, neither seeing who they were actually looking at.

Lorne tiptoed over to hiss in Angel's ear. "You know, there are enough vibrations in here to make Beach Boys a certain shade of envious." He grimaced at the oblivious duo and gave a melodramatic shudder. "Though they're not all the good kind. Yeesh!"

Drusilla materialized at Lorne's opposite shoulder. She'd gone way past vague concern and was becoming distressed. "William needs to go home!" she insisted, much more vehemently than before. "Now, now, now. Sweet baby boy come blow away..."

Gunn pulled her aside. "Okay, baby, that's enough with the hoogity-boogity."

Lorne turned to Angel, crimson eyes alight. "'Baby'?" he mouthed.

Angel ignored him. He was too busy resenting the fact that there was some mystical communication going on between Cordy and Spike that he had no part in. He hunched his shoulders and glowered at them. 

There had been countless times over the years, times just like this one, when he wished that he'd staked the other vamp the first time he'd dared to provoke him; an entire five minutes after he'd been raised. Spike had been cheerfully keeping up that provocation every five minutes since, for the last century, and yet still remained stake-free. Why was that? What the hell was so special about _him_?

"There's just the three of them," Cordelia reported in the distracted manner of someone trying to recount a plotline while the film was still playing. "Jonathon and Warren and that other guy. They've got Buffy in some kind of..." Her mouth dropped open in astonishment "Oh my God, she's HUGE!" 

Spike made an inarticulate warning noise, not appreciating the bluntness of her observation. He was evidently getting the vision as well. That or she was somehow getting it _through_ him.

"Sorry, sorry. It just threw me for a bit. Hang on..." Cordy concentrated harder. "Uh, she's in some kind of cage thingy... A jail cell or -? No. It looks more like the old Sunnydale Army Barracks. Xander's there, too." She came back to reality with a disgusted huff. "What the hell would anyone want _him_ for?"

"Collateral damage, perhaps?" Wesley speculated. "He was very likely with her when she was taken."

Spike had become lucid again at the same time Cordelia had. He perched on the very edge of the sofa, focus regained, eyes clear crystalline blue.

"Bloody hell, let's get on with it," he grumbled, climbing awkwardly to his feet and taking a second to find his center of gravity. "Looks like the Watcher got it right for once," he muttered. "Wonders never cease, eh?"

"Which Watcher?" Fred asked, so attentive to his every movement it was as though she was cataloguing them for future reference.

"That sodding git Rupert." Spike inhaled sharply, held it, and then let the breath back out in a long, steady puff before continuing. "Said that I'd be getting the Slayer's labor pains."

"Buffy's in labor?" Wesley exchanged a significant look with Fred. It appeared they had discussed this very possibility. 

"Yeah. Figured he was spouting a lot of old bollocks. I mean, its not like I've got the proper bits, is it?"

Wes didn't quite know what to say to that and his expression showed as much. 

"She's too bloody early, in any case." Spike shuffled off toward the door. "Contractions aren't that close together yet so maybe I can get back to Sunnydale before..."

"You're not driving in that condition," Cordelia scolded and turned pleading eyes on her fellow Warrior. "Angel, tell him."

"I'll drive."

Spike looked indignant. "Not my car you won't."

"So, I'll drive mine." Angel gave him an evil smile. "You can ride shotgun."

"I'll ride shotgun," Cordelia put in. "If you think I'm going to miss this, you're nuttier than Drusilla."

The vampiress in question glared. "It may've escaped your notice, dear precious, but I'm no longer the nut here. P'rhaps your own mind has gone soft from receiving the visions?"

Cordelia snorted. "As if."

"If only," Dru shot back.

Spike paused at the doorway long enough to sigh and rest his forehead against the frame. "Dru, love, where are you pullin' all these names from?"

Angel frowned. He hadn't noticed that she'd said anything amiss. _Except that she had..._ "You called Cordy 'dear precious'."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. "Like 'Jewel' precious?" she asked. "Or like Gollum precious? Which would be, by incredible coincidence, _nutty_."

Wesley's flint-like gaze darted from one woman to the other. "Is this really a suitable time for this confrontation?" 

"Aargh!!" Spike's face contorted in pain, his forehead thumping against the doorframe. He flashed them a wide-eyed, multicolored look of panic before his knees buckled and he pitched sideways, out the door and out of sight.

They heard a muffled thud and a groan.

"Think we ought to take that as a no," Fred observed dryly.

  
TBC...


	11. Regeneration

**__**

EPISODE ELEVEN  
"Regeneration"

It was nearing eight a.m. and Giles was just picking up the receiver of the Magic Box phone to call regarding her tardiness when Anya bustled through the door.

"Xander's missing," she stated matter-of-factly.

Giles blinked and put the phone back. "I'm sorry?"

"I said, 'Xander's missing'. He didn't come home from patrol last night." The former demon's face was pinched and tired, deep worry lines bracketing her mouth as she dumped her handbag onto the counter. "We were supposed to celebrate our engagement with all-night sex, so I got all dolled up in my fancy lingerie and had the champagne and chocolate sauce ready, and some of that whipped-cream-in-a-can stuff he likes so much. And I sat there and I waited, and waited, and it all got spoiled. And this is all Buffy's fault, you know."

She finally paused to draw a breath and Giles took advantage of the lull, seizing on the most inane thing she'd said. "Engagement?"

She waggled her left hand at him, making the modest diamond there sparkle in the light. "He finally got around to the asking part. I was beginning to think I'd have to keep ignoring the little box in his coat pocket forever."

"Oh, well. That's..." He straightened his shoulders_. Polite, Giles, be polite_. "I extend my congratulations, then. To both of you."

"Both of us aren't here," she said impatiently. "Which brings us back to the whole Xander's missing thing." She placed her hands on her hips and stared at him expectantly. "Well? Do something."

He frowned. _If Xander hadn't made it home, then it was conceivable that Buffy had met the same fate..._ "Did you -?"

"Call Buffy?" Anya scoffed. "Of course, I did. I'm not stupid." 

"And -?"

"She's not home either. Which is why I came to you. But I'm feeling very dissatisfied by your slow response time. It doesn't inspire confidence." 

Giles was actually becoming more concerned by the second, but was determined to be pragmatic. "We haven't time to go out to the house, and she hasn't made use of the back room for quite a while, so nothing of hers is available for me to carry out a locator spell. Do you have anything of Xander's we could use?"

She pursed her lips, considering that, and eventually resorted to flashing the engagement ring again. "Only this. He had it a lot longer than I've had it so there should be enough residual energy."

They were gathering components when Willow and Tara arrived, rushing through the door in a dizzying hodge-podge of brightly colored prints, fringed jackets and flowing skirts.

"Its Buffy!" Willow blurted, pink-cheeked with alarm, clutching nervously at the strap of her book-bag.

"She..." Tara struggled to catch her breath. "Sh-she's..."

"Missing," Anya finished for them and nodded sagely. "We know."

"What?" Willow seemed caught between genuine curiosity and disappointment that she hadn't been the one to break the news. "How?"

"Xander's AWOL too," the ex-demon explained. "We were doing a spell, but now you're here, you can do it. I don't think Giles is anywhere near calm enough to be effective."

"I say, I'm perfectly calm!"

She snorted at the heated disclaimer, ignoring his further sputtering in favor of spreading a map out onto the table and propping candles at the corners to hold it flat.

Willow cast an eye over their preparations, her attention drawn to the gleaming ring now sitting in the center of a little ceramic dish. 

"Okay. So since when does Xander wear diamonds?" 

~[*]~

Angel shook his head, hands tight on the steering wheel. He'd been thinking about his Childe's stupidity for most of the journey, and continued to be astounded by the magnitude of it. "I still can't believe you chose now to leave her alone."

"She can fend for herself," Spike snarled from his prostrate position on the back seat. "You know it. One reason you rode off all John-Wayne-like into the sunset, innit?"

"I don't do sunsets," Angel muttered, glancing into the rear mirror to ensure the DeSoto was still behind them. Wesley drove like a little old lady. "Or sunrises for that matter." He flexed his hands; what scant daylight that had managed to breach the recently installed_, outrageously expensive,_ tinted windows was beginning to sting his skin.

Cordelia turned to peer over the seat. "How are you coping? Is the pain worse?" When Spike just looked at her, shadowed eyes telling her all she needed to know, she turned back to Angel. "Drive faster."

"We're hitting the town limits now, Cor. The last thing we want is to be pulled over."

__

Town limits? Spike hauled himself up on his elbows to peer out the window, just in time to see the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign flash by. He sighed wistfully. _Sod it all, he hated to break tradition, even if it was for something as important as this._

"Don't s'pose you'd do a bloke a favor..."

Angel growled. "I'm not going back to flatten the damn sign, Spike, so don't even think about asking."

Spike flopped back onto the seat. "Wanker."

~[*]~

Buffy stared at the expanding pool of fluid in dismay. "Crap," she muttered. "I really liked these shoes, too."

Xander chose that precise moment to muddle his way back into consciousness. "Sweet Mother, somebody get the number of that..." He took in his surroundings with barely opened eyes. "Hey, I know this place..." He turned his head to look at Buffy. "You're all wet," he observed.

"Yeah. That's kinda what happens when your water breaks."

"Huh?" His gaze sharpened and he shot to his feet. "Oh crap! _Your water broke_?"

"That's what I said." She stared thoughtfully at the thick denim of her coat, which she'd opened out on the floor, then gave him a perfunctory once over. "Give me your shirt."

He tugged at the open flaps of his shirt, pulling blue-checked flannel protectively against his chest. He had no idea where his own coat had disappeared to. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" She rolled her eyes. "Look, Xan, I'm trying to be all practical girl here. You know, not making with the screaming hysteria? You can go ahead and do that part if you want, but I vote for Buffy _not_ giving birth on cold cement. I want more padding. Pad me!" She held out an imperious hand.

Xander shrugged out of the shirt, leaving him in the dreadful orange T-shirt he wore underneath. He was handing it over when he finally noticed their audience. "Oh. Hi there, mysterious-kidnapper-guys."

Andrew gave him an absent little wave, but he got no other reply, their eyes all remained riveted to Buffy.

Xander shook his head, turning to look at her himself. "What's with the three stunned monkeys? Dumb, dumb and even more dumb?"

"Yep." She spread the shirt alongside her coat like she was preparing for a picnic. "But not so much with the mysterious. Recognize dumb monkey number three?"

Xander moved closer to the cell bars, pausing a second to frown confusedly at the ones Buffy had crushed, before focusing on the trio on the other side. One familiar face stood out. "Well, well. Jonathon. I'd say it was nice to see you again but..." The young man turned rounded blue eyes on him, and Xander was startled by the blank expression in them. "I think Jonathon's left the building."

"We're dead." Jonathon told him, his voice wooden and stilted. "We are total dead men."

Buffy nodded. "Got that part ..._right_." She grimaced, her hand shooting out to grab Xander's forearm, nails digging into the skin. 

Both of them let out a long, harmonized, "_Owww..."_

~[*]~

The Angel Investigations cavalcade pulled up outside the Magic Box just in time to see an enormous flash of white light come from inside. 

Angel blinked at the residual spots before his eyes. "Someone's spell-casting in there."

Cordelia gave him a withering look. "It's a _magic_ _shop_, doofus."

Spike's bleach-blonde head materialized between them as he leant forward to peer at the storefront, squinting against the sun. "Too early for customers," he said. "The Wiccans, most like. Or Rupert. Man's got some serious mojo on tap when he wants it." He handed Angel a blanket over the seat. "Suit up, Peaches. Can't afford to be dilly-dallying about." 

He shoved the rear door open and climbed out, leaving the others to make their own way.

When he entered the store mere seconds later, it was to see Willow and Tara batting out tiny spot-fires on a town map and Anya trying to wipe soot from Giles' face. He paused to watch the show, absentmindedly casting a frown overhead when he noticed the lack of tinkling bell. _Had they still not fixed that? Lazy sods._

"Still a fraction heavy-handed with the herbs there, Red?" he asked, moving toward them, trying his best to swagger despite the persistent spasms in his midsection.

Willow barely glanced at him, and threw a disgruntled look at Anya. "Less with the herbs and more with the distracting surprise announcements," she mumbled. Then she finally realized who'd spoken. "Spike! You're back!"

"Yeah," he drawled. "Funny that, 'cause I've never been one for the return gig before." He pointed at the paraphernalia on the table. "Won't be needing any of that locator rubbish anyhow. Know where the Slayer's holed up, just came to see if you lot want in on the rescue wagon."

"R-rescue?" Tara's eyes went wide. "Are they in danger?"

"Yeah, as if!"

The incredulous snort came from behind them where Cordelia had posed herself artfully in the doorway. The dramatic entrance was short-lived, spoiled by the great lump of grey wool that suddenly jostled her out of the way. Once inside, the smoldering material was shed like a cocoon to reveal Angel underneath. He cast an apologetic smile at Cordy, only to have her snub him completely. 

Spike smirked at the disgusted expression on her face, before responding to Tara himself. "Cheerleader 's right that score. No peril from the daft lot of Nancy's that took 'em, but looks like Seth's decided to make an early entrance."

Giles finally managed to extricate himself from Anya's irksome fussing, straightening his glasses and giving the blonde vampire a long, measured stare. "How exactly are you aware of this?"

"Well, it's like you said before, innit?" Spike tapped his stomach, wincing when something twinged. "With great lashings of pain and all that other fun stuff. Link's not as cocked up as I thought."

"He's telling the truth. For once." Angel glanced at the clock on the wall. "Give it another minute and you'll see for yourself." He gestured toward his own beaten face. "It's not pretty."

"Took the bloody words right out my mouth," Spike muttered. He gave Cordelia a mournful shake of his head. "Havin' to see that first thing ev'ry morning. Don't know how you manage it."

"Shut up, Spike," she chided.

"Right you are." 

He sighed wearily and tipped his head back, lashes fluttering shut. Then they snapped back open to reveal the now familiar polychromatic hues of his irises. He growled, his body going rigid.

"Look out, here he goes again." Angel leapt forward to tackle the younger vamp as he made a break for the street, yelling his Slayer's name. 

~[*]~

Buffy swept a strand of hair out of her eyes, riding out the tail end of another contraction. Even though they were coming almost continuously now, they weren't as bad as she'd been expecting; each of them cutting out at the very peak in the very same way her indigestion had. Her mind had come up with all sorts of scenarios of how that pain transference could be effecting Spike, none of which was particularly comforting.

She cast an anxious glance up at Xander, who was across the other side of the cell, closer to their kidnappers than her. "I'm... sorry..." she puffed, "I won't... do the... grabbing thing anymore. Okay?"

The brunette rubbed at the bruises, now staining the skin of _both_ his forearms. "Can I get that in writing?"

She gave up on the repentant act and glared at him. "Damn it, Xander Harris, I can't do this by myself so stop being all avoidy guy and get your ass over here!" When he didn't answer for a moment, she snarled. "Don't make me come and get you."

Xander cast a shamefaced glance over his shoulder at the still-dumbstruck trio, who continued to ignore him, and moved back toward the Slayer. When he got close enough, she yanked him down so that he was kneeling at her feet. He threw a hand over his eyes as she tugged up the hem of her skirt.

"Aargh! Buffy parts!" he protested. "Non-Xander-friendly parts of Buffy!"

"Total agreement under any other circumstances," she agreed, nodding. "But for right now, just tell me if I'm crowning. Can you can see the head?"

"The head of what?" 

She just stared at him until he capitulated with a weird little mewling noise, peering warily through his splayed fingers and then quickly looking away again, skittering back a few feet. 

"Oh God."

She gnawed at her lower lip. "So? You saw the head, right?"

"Oh yeah!" He jerked his chin vaguely in the direction of her hemline. "And you do realize that I have that image etched on the inside of my eyeballs now right? I'm scarred for life..." 

~[*]~

"...He's not the only one," Andrew murmured. He chanced a peek at his companions. "I say we make a break for it before Falchion and Gladius get here."

"I'm with Andrew," Jonathon seconded, rousing from his state of shock.

"Why am I not surprised? " Warren asked disgustedly. He scowled at them. "You two nimrods deserve each other. Am I the only one thinking of the potential here?"

Andrew frowned, bewildered. "Other than our potential deaths?"

Warren pointed emphatically into the cell. "That kid is the gold mine we've been waiting for."

Jonathon blinked, mouth dropping open. "Are you nuts?"

"I'm definitely sensing some nuttiness," Andrew agreed.

"This is the break we've been waiting for," Warren insisted. "If we can sell it..."

"It's not an 'it'," Jonathon said. "It's a _baby_. A living, breathing human being."

"So's your precious Buffy. You didn't have a problem with _that_."

"Yeah, well, I should have." Jonathon folded his arms and stared up at his former comrade defiantly. "I do _now_!"

"Yeah, me too," Andrew declared. He took an antagonistic step into Warren's personal space, realizing for the first time as he did so that he was actually taller than the other boy was. He straightened his shoulders, using the scant difference to his advantage. "Two against one, Warren. You're voted off this island."

Warren looked back and forth between them. They weren't scared of him anymore, and none of his bullying tactics were going to work. He took the only option he could think of in the face of such mutiny; he turned and ran for the door. 

He hustled out into the corridor, cursing the larger frame that had previously been his trump card but was now proving to be his downfall. They were scrawnier and quicker, and he was already getting tired. 

Despite that, he'd almost gotten as far as the exit when Jonathon crash-tackled him from behind, catching him around the knees. They toppled forward onto the ground. Andrew leapt onto Warren's back with an ululating battle cry, smashing his head into the concrete.

"Rope." Jonathon fumbled around, trying to pin Warren's flailing feet. "Do you see any rope? We need to tie him up." 

His eyes widened in surprise when a thick roll of twine spontaneously appeared under his nose. He looked beyond it, up, up and up again, past the outstretched arm and into the dark fathomless eyes of Gladius.

"I think there's enough there for all of you," the Warrior said calmly.

~[*]~

Spike groaned, slithering out the passenger seat of Angel's car and tumbling onto the grass. 

__

Fancy leaving him to fend for himself! In his condition! Daft gits, the whole bloody lot of them. Those Thompson Twin Watchers especially, tossing out words like 'expedience' and 'liability' like they knew anything at all about it. He hadn't been rendered completely useless, but even Peaches and his floozy had abandoned all their sympathetic pretexts in favor of playing the heroes.

He groaned again, the vocal expression of his suffering doing little to alleviate it. He'd never felt anything remotely like this, like a deeply ingrained part of himself was tearing itself free. Wrenching and pulling, and shredding his insides. The implications of what that could mean were making his head spin but in spite of it all, the urge to find Buffy was more powerful than ever, driving him onward through the pain.

He struggled to his feet, only to stagger drunkenly sideward, gasping, one hand shooting out steady his weight against the hood of the Angelmobile. He had the most overwhelming desire to...

__

Push?

~[*]~

"Gotta push," Buffy insisted. "Pushing now."

Xander shook his head. "Buff, you can't. Try to hold back until we can..."

"No," she grunted. "No time. Push now."

Xander briefly wondered when she had devolved into Cave-Buffy. That was never a good sign. "Uh..."

She ignored him, effectively cutting off any further protest. _She knew that she was supposed to do this, she just knew it._

Xander studied the determined set of her features. He'd seen that face before and it was also never a good sign. He wasn't arguing with that face. "Okay, then." He pushed up non-existent shirtsleeves and assumed a catcher's position. "Let's do it."

Buffy immediately bore down, her efforts punctuated by loud, open-mouthed yell. She gasped for breath, then repeated the cycle, keeping her eyes on Xander the whole time just in case he was gonna faint or something. He was making all kinds of sympathetically anguished faces, but his focus never waned once. 

__

Don't look now, Xan, but I think you've become a grown-up. 

You are the biggest hero EVER!

Angel suddenly appeared at the cell bars. Taking in the situation, his eyes went wide and he let out a sort of asthmatic wheeze, sounding like he'd been gut-punched. "Oh Jeez..." He grabbed onto the cell door and yanked, ripping it off at the hinges. "Come on, we've got to..."

Buffy held up her hand, glaring at him. "Don't. Say. It," she hissed. "Not goin' to... _Grraagh!"_ She gritted her teeth and pushed hard into the next contraction. She wasn't sure, but she thought that maybe something tore open.

Angel swayed a little on his feet, growing even paler than normal. He started to back away. "I'll, um... I'll go get Cordy and the... the others... O-okay?" 

Not waiting for an answer, he turned and ran, almost colliding with the trio who stood outside the room peering in, each of them with their hands tightly bound.

Xander tamped down the urge to laugh at the idea of a vampire that bailed at the sight of blood. "I think we should forget that whole 'monkey' analogy, Buff," he said instead. "The way those guys keep hanging around it's more like the wise men at the nativity." He managed a smile. "Or possibly the unwise men. On the bright side, that usually equals presents."

The laugh that his joking produced strangled in Buffy's throat and she lurched into one last almighty push, screaming with exertion.

"That's it. You've got it," Xander soothed. He held the tiny round head as it emerged, remembering from years and years of M*A*S*H-rerun-training to turn it to the side so that the baby's shoulders could come out, the rest of the tiny body sliding out behind. "Hey," he murmured. "Way to make an entrance, buddy." He looked up at Buffy with tears in his eyes, and was shocked to see the burning amber of hers. "Buff? You okay?"

She growled at him, having fully vamped out during the final moments of Seth's birth.

There was a startled gasp from behind them and they turned, expecting Angel back with reinforcements or even for one of the trio to finally say something constructive. They didn't expect to see Spike propped against the doorframe, wild-eyed and ashen-faced.

"Oh God," he whispered, gaze riveted to the small, squirmy pink body in Xander's hands. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion and it took a concerted effort to shift his attention toward his Slayer. She stared back - sweaty, yellow-eyed and fangy, and the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Oh God, Buffy..."

Buffy just continued to stare. She'd never seen that look on his face before. He seemed so fragile. And his voice... How could someone so old sound so much like a lost little boy? 

"You look like crap," she informed him after a moment.

He let out a weird choking noise, not quite a cough or a laugh, but somehow both at the same time. 

Xander grimaced, deciding to ignore the tension that had suddenly sprung up around him and concentrate on the task of cutting the umbilical cord that still connected Seth to his mother. 

At the exact moment that the blade of his always-handy-dandy Swiss Army knife severed that final link, the baby began to cry and a massive jolt of pain speared through Spike's torso. It was agonizing, a hundred times worse than the labor. He felt like he'd been shot. At close range, with horrendous powder burns to boot.

He staggered a few steps forward, one hand reaching out, whether for Buffy or the baby he would never know, and collapsed in a heap as his heart stopped.

__

To be concluded...

****

A/N: _Hey everybody! One more to go and this baby's in the can! (*does weirdly disjointed interpretation of the Snoopy Dance*). I'm trying to pull together all the loose threads so that the last part can be up sometime before Xmas.  
Don't forget to leave a review. I don't seem to get as many as other writers, or maybe I'm just paranoid about it. ((*glances over shoulder* - Hey, lurking guy, do I look paranoid to you? Yeah, well, same to you, buddy!)  
LOL! Dee._


	12. Coda

**__**

EPISODE TWELVE  
"Coda"

Buffy had no idea how Xander managed it, whether it was some kind of super speed or teleportation, or maybe even some funky time-travel deal. Whichever it was, by the time Angel had returned with the rest of the Scoobies, he'd miraculously cleaned up most of the carnage from Seth's delivery, tucked the baby into a sleeve from his shirt - the only part of it that had remained salvageable - and thoughtfully moved Spike alongside her. 

He was the perfect guy to have around in an emergency and unquestionably the best friend in the whole world. If she were capable of any sort of movement right then, Buffy would have kissed him. 

But then kissage was also prevented by the fact that as soon as the others had arrived he'd abandoned her in favor of being mollycoddled by Anya, and that the unconscious vampire lying by her side was monopolizing all her own attention. Even Seth, with his dear little face mashed into her shoulder, mouth working in a fruitless search for sustenance against the cotton, was currently beneath her notice.

"Spike?" She cupped her free hand tentatively against his cheek. He was cold to the touch, colder than he'd been even _before_ the link. But then again, maybe he only felt that way because she was currently channeling his demon. She looked up at the group of people hovering just outside the cell, despair apparent even in her vampiric guise. "This is really it, huh? I've finally killed him."

Willow shook her head. "He's not a big pile of dust, so I'm thinking that's a 'no'."

"It's just the rift," Tara put in. "And Seth told us that was fixable. So no panicking, okay?"

Angel stared down at her, perplexed. He still got strange vibes every time he was around this girl. "What does that mean, 'Seth told you'? Seth can't talk. He's just a baby."

Tara gave him a reproachful look, then ducked around behind Willow as though seeking protection from the dark vampire's scrutiny.

"That is _so_ not important right now," the redhead stated firmly and peered past him, seeking one of the Watchers. "Giles, any ideas? Something helpful would be great."

Giles tapped the earpiece of his glasses against his pursed lips, deep in thought. 

"I believe that the rift is a pre-existing imbalance made worse by the Gemel's own actions," he postulated aloud. "From what Angel has reported of Spike's 'attacks', it's probable that the Serpiente has been compensating for this by using Seth as a bridge to keep the connection open. What remains to be discovered, however, is the source of this imbalance. There must have been some other event, a catalyst, a disturbance of the physical or..." He narrowed his gaze at his Slayer. "Buffy, has Spike ever fed from you?"

She grimaced, an expression made somewhat gruesome by her fangs. "Ew, no!"

"Oh, but...." Wesley lurched forward from the rear wall where he'd been keeping a vigilant eye on the tethered trio, almost as though his brain had pushed him into the conversation without his body's permission. "I'm s-sorry, but he has."

She turned flashing yellow eyes on him. "And how the bloody hell would you know, Junior?"

Wes ignored the jibe, shoring up his confidence in the face of her contempt. He'd become a tad more assertive of late. "Have you forgotten Pylea, and your rather hasty solution to the absence of Spike's... _pre-packaged_ meals?"

"Pre-packaged? What? Oh." Buffy's eyes widened, then dropped to stare at her partner. "But - but that was nothing, hardly even a mouthful. He probably didn't even taste it. _And_ I practically had to force it down his throat."

"The quantity is irrelevant. That he ingested any amount at all gives us a plausible reason for your current loss of strength," Giles explained in his most pedantic Watcher voice. "By drinking from you, Spike deepened his connection to you and subsequently, to Seth. You've been pushing him away, and now that the baby has been born he's lost the final physical thread connecting the two of you. Your demonic appearance is symptomatic of a last desperate attempt to keep the link between you intact. It is also the most likely solution." He sighed. "As much as it pains me to say it, in order to repair the rift it seems that you must partake of his life-force."

"Partake of his -? You mean, you want me _bite_ him?" 

"Yes, exactly."

Buffy looked from her Watcher to Spike and back again, highly skeptical. One of her hands rose to her mouth, gingerly testing the edges of her fangs. "And you're sure about this?"

Giles frowned. "What more would it take to convince you?" He waved one hand at Spike's inert form. "You're perfectly aware of how this works. You need no further instruction from me."

Buffy shifted Seth's weight to her right arm, and reached out with the left, taking Spike's hand in her own. It hung there, heavy and lifeless, slightly clammy with sweat. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent, the fine roadwork of blue veins all too visible to her demon-enhanced eyes. She squeezed his fingers encouragingly.

"Spike?" There was no response save for a minute twitching of his fingers; like he wanted to return her gesture, but didn't have the strength for it. She took a deep breath before continuing. 

"Spike, I know I've been a complete bitch to you the last few months. I know that this whole separation thing is my fault. It's _all_ my fault a-and I c-can't..." She bit back a sob, tracing the significantly deep path of his heart line with one finger. "I _can't_ apologize for it. I can't take any of it back, but I _can_ tell you... I love you. A lot. So much sometimes that it scares me. But, I can live with the scary, and all that other stuff I was stressing about; being normal, being not-the-Slayer, it doesn't matter. What matters is here, and now. And _us_." 

Her tone was hushed, but fiercely passionate. She was making a vow. "Right now, I'm committing everything I have, everything I am, to you." She brought his arm up to her mouth. "I'm yours and you're mine. From now on, we're _family_." 

She pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist, then opened her mouth wider, fangs descending to pierce through the soft flesh. 

Spike's eyes snapped open, locking onto the Slayer's with an uncanny precision. He didn't make one sound of protest or any indication that she was hurting him, there was no acknowledgement of the bite at all, he just stared at her - _into_ _her_. 

A light flickered to life deep in his pupils, a flash of pure blinding white that obliterated the black and set off a mirrored reaction in Buffy. She dropped out of game face and drew back, lowering his wrist slowly, almost dreamily, as though she'd forgotten just what it was she'd been doing. She seemed mesmerized by Spike's very presence.

"Be mindful of their eyes," Giles said softly, sounding like a science lecturer. "The effect can be somewhat disconcerting." 

Xander nodded. "I'd say _very_ somewhat."

The white light gave way to familiar swirls of blue, green and gold, and then dissipated completely, leaving just Buffy and Spike, rapt in the sight of each other.

Angel had been standing back with the rest of the Scoobies, allowing for a modicum of privacy for what was essentially a very private moment. He swooped in when they both suddenly collapsed, saving Seth from tumbling onto the cement floor. He rocked the tiny baby absently; his attention still focused mainly on its parents.

Cordelia observed this interaction with a melancholy little smile tugging at her lips. She came up behind Angel and wrapped her arms around his waist, hooking her chin into his shoulder. He glanced back at her, then down at the child, a sharp pang of understanding making him wince. This was something they'd never have, best to savor it while they could. 

Willow, on the other hand, had been staring raptly into the Gemel's swirling eyes the whole time. She shook her head abruptly, as though breaking out of a trance, and let out an excited whoosh of air. "Whoa. That was really trippy."

"And the award for understatement of the year goes to..." 

"Xander!" Anya admonished. "Even I know that was inappropriate."

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "But using humor to cope? Kinda my thing."

Andrew broke into a crooked grin, forgetting exactly where he was for a moment. "Hey, that was really cool! Do they do that a lot? 'Cause I have my Handy-Cam outside in the van, and we could probably..." He broke off when Jonathon nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. "Ow, what?" 

"Knock it off," Jonathon muttered through a painfully fake smile, his teeth grinding together.

Andrew looked around, finally registering the many irritated faces aimed in his direction. He swallowed. "Oh. Right." He pasted on a similarly broad fake smile, a nervous tic causing his left eye to wink at them repeatedly.

"Why's that stupid pillock winking?" 

Spike's voice was rough and slightly slurred, but at least he was conscious and calling people names - a status that could pass for normal under other circumstances. 

He struggled into a sitting position and rested an open palm against his chest. "Oh yeah," he sighed in relief. "There it is." He turned to Buffy, giving her a bashful little grin and batting his lashes. "And there you are." He pursed his lips at her empty arms. "And wasn't there a wriggly baby-shaped thing about here someplace?"

Buffy snorted. "Way to go with the keen observiness, honey." She reached up to accept Seth as Angel handed him back. The baby had dozed off by this time, exhausted by his dramatic entrance into the world. "Look what we did." 

Sheer wonder blossomed across Spike's lean features as he finally gazed down at his son. His mouth moved as if to speak, but then he abandoned words altogether, preferring to just sit and stare with an expression of complete and utter joy.

One look at his face and the Slayer was struggling, ineffectually as it turned out, not to cry again. She was riding in the front carriage of the ultimate emotional rollercoaster. 

Spike's hand lifted to hover just millimeters from cupping the baby's head in his palm, it would have fitted easily. "Small," he commented softly.

"Early," Buffy pointed out in amused imitation, brushing tears from her cheeks. She'd never seen him at a loss for words before; it was a novel experience. 

Willow made a delighted cooing noise and tugged Tara close, resting her head against her shoulder. "Isn't that the sweetest thing you ever saw?"

"Yeah. In a sickly, wake-up-and-smell-the-saccharine way," Xander observed. "So, aside from the obvious happy, how do ya feel, Big Daddy Vamp?"

Spike barely glanced at them. "Like I just went fifteen rounds with a brassed-off Chirago demon."

"Okay." Xander nodded his understanding, then twitched baffled brows at Giles. "I'm assuming that's a bad thing," he disclosed in aside.

"Oh yes. Chirago demons are quite large and brutish, and prone to unprovoked bouts of violence."

"So they're a lot like Angel then?"

Both Angel and Cordelia glared in unified protest. 

"Hey!"

"Watch it!"

Xander held both hands up in surrender. "And again, I make with the sorry. My motor-mouth is running on empty."

"You mean your head is," Cordelia snarked.

Anya scowled. "Your status as former girlfriend doesn't allow you to be mean to Xander."

Cordy smiled smugly. "It does actually."

The former vengeance demon mulled that over. "You're correct. I apologize. Please continue with the petty criticisms."

"Please don't." Giles was growing weary of their bickering. "There are more pertinent things we need to discuss."

Buffy finally looked up from the flannel-clad bundle in her arms. "Yeah, there are," she said. "Like, before the whole biting thing, when you said that Seth was being used as a bridge to keep the link open? That was the full extent of his bridgey powers right? That was the whole kit and caboodle?"

Giles shrugged. "I've no reason to believe otherwise. He seems entirely normal now." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his eyes narrowed on the family as a unit. "Unless there's something you aren't telling us? Any of you?"

Buffy shook her head. "Nup."

Spike duplicated her movement, forehead crinkled slightly in concentration. "All square as far as I can figure." He gave Giles a hard, level stare. "So you can quit banging on about prophecies and such now, alright?"

Giles began to argue, but Spike set his jaw, one raised brow daring him to go ahead and make an issue of it. 

"Certainly," he agreed reluctantly. Privately, he was of the opinion that nothing at all was certain. Everything could not really have been settled this simply, and there were so many other factors that hadn't yet been addressed.

"This is all quite wonderful and heartwarming," Wesley interjected, "But..." He gestured at the trio.

Warren glowered sullenly at the renewed attention. He'd been hoping that if they kept quiet, they'd be able to escape unnoticed. 

Andrew cowered awkwardly behind Jonathon, trying to seem as insignificant as possible. 

"Uh yeah." Jonathon, despite his small stature, seemed to have significantly more backbone than the other two did. "We were kinda wondering... What are you gonna do with us?"

Spike rocked up into a crouch, eyes sparking yellow. He seemed a whole lot stronger than he had just a few minutes earlier, practically radiating power. "Well, I've got a few extra-painful ideas I've been meaning to try out..."

"Back off, Spike." Angel stepped in between the blonde vamp and his intended prey.

At what he saw as the older vampire's defense, Warren suddenly grew cockier. "Yeah. You heard him. Back off, golden boy."

Angel whipped around to pin the youth with a hostile glare, flashing a few yellow sparks of his own, and more than a hint of fang. 

"Don't get it into your head that I'm helping you here," he burred, a trace of Angelus filtering through in the silkiness of his tone. "I just don't want him to kill you before I get my turn."

"Your -?" Warren swallowed the enormous lump in his throat, his eyes so wide that white was visible all the way around the brown of his iris. His voice was reedy with fear. "Your _turn_?"

"Yeah. You're all coming back to LA with me." He smiled evilly. "For... _re-education_."

"Oh, you'll enjoy that, pursuit of wisdom being your thing and all," Spike said cheerfully, a matching smile curving mouth. He sauntered across to Angel's side and clapped a hand on his shoulder, backing him up. They'd used to pull this intimidation routine back in their evil days. Who knew it'd still be this much fun? 

"And," he went on, "As I recall, Peaches here can be very..." He paused, licking his lips. "_Thorough_."

Warren tried to retreat from their scary-as-hell stand-over tactics, backing into Jonathon and Andrew - who batted him aside with frantic flapping hands; difficult to push in a manly way when your wrists were tied - before stumbling sideways. He was quickly grabbed by Xander and hauled back upright. 

"You can't do this," he protested, kicking futilely. "I've got rights."

"The right to remain silent," Xander noted. "Kidnapping being a crime and all." He tightened his grip, twisting slightly to avoid Warren's thrashing feet. "Ow! Hey! Keep that up and I _will_ hand you over to the bleached wonder."

"He can't touch me," Warren sneered. "He can't hurt humans. Falchion's shackled with Trooper's Bane or whatever the hell passes for it in this dimension."

"Yeah? Shows what you know."

Spike whipped out a deceptively casual left fist, connecting with a crack as the boy's nose broke. Warren slumped like dead weight in Xander's arms, blood flowing down over his mouth and chin. Spike dipped a finger into the gore, contemplated the streak of crimson for a moment, and then wiped it off on Warren's shirt. "I got over it."

Buffy climbed to her feet. Her Slayer healing had started to kick in and she was feeling... well, not _great_, but not too bad either. There were tired shadows beneath her sea-green eyes, but a contented glow shone through nonetheless. "Spike, leave him alone."

"Right you are, pet," he agreed readily. "No fisticuffs for the respectable family man."

She shook her head. "Oh no, you can fisticuff all you want. Feel free to pummel them bloody. Just don't do it where Seth can see you."

Spike abandoned his showboating and moved back to her side as though magnets drew him there. 

"Sees me, does he?" He leant over her shoulder and pushed a fold of material away from his son's cheek, squinting at the tiny face. "Amazin' how he does it through his eyelids like that. Must be some sort of miracle kid after all." 

Buffy nudged him with her elbow, smiling indulgently. "Shut up."

He brushed a sweat-dampened curl from her forehead and placed a gentle kiss on the exposed skin. "Love it when you boss me about."

She reached up with her free hand and wrapped it around his, turning the palm over to expose the twin punctures on the inside of his wrist. They were already healing. She gave him a shy smile, drawing the wounds to her mouth. "Love _you_," she responded, running her tongue across the overly sensitive skin.

It took a moment for him to realize that she hadn't spoken aloud, the fact that she was using the link only just beginning to sink in as a frisson of pure Buffy-love flowed through into his body.

Spike shuddered.

__

God, he'd missed that! That glorious sense of belonging, the feeling of complete and utter rightness he got from their connection. 

Best bloody thing he'd ever done, getting linked to his Slayer.

A low growl left his throat, and the look he gave her was blistering in its intensity.

Anya took their behavior in with sharp-eyed voracity. "Well," she said. "Judging by that, Seth will probably have a sibling within the next year."

Xander glanced over, having unloaded his unconscious burden off on Angel for transportation back to LA. He moved to his fiancée's side and took her hand, playfully turning the engagement ring round and round on her finger. It was slightly too big, but she'd adamantly refused to exchange it. "Any luck, and we'll beat them to it."

Anya gaped at him. "You mean that?"

He watched as Buffy carefully tucked Seth into the crook of Spike's elbow, taking in the helpless new-father panic on the vampire's face with a newfound benevolence. He envied their little family so much. _And that_, he realized, _had been the source of a lot of his antipathy_. "Yeah. I really mean that." He smiled down into Anya's shining eyes. "I love you, Ahn."

"I love you too," she replied briskly and slipped into business-mode quicker than he could blink. He could almost see the wheels turning in her unfathomable head. "But you do know that these family plans mean that I'll have to move up the date for the wedding, right? That way we can try to conceive as early as the honeymoon. It's very traditional for the bride to get knocked up on her wedding night..."

Xander cut her off with a kiss. 

Sometimes it was the only way.

~[*]~

__

SIX MONTHS LATER...

Despite the inordinate amount of time he'd had to adjust to the situation, Giles still had to grapple with his sense of propriety on each and every visit to the house on Revello Drive. Today was a good day, however, and it only took five minutes or so before he gave up and got around to knocking.

The door opened open almost immediately, and he caught a glimpse of Buffy's back as she swung by on her way upstairs.

"Go on in, Giles," she called over her shoulder. "I've just gotta change my shirt."

The Watcher squinted after her, then shrugged. There was obviously some sort of sartorial emergency in progress. He went into the lounge and settled on the sofa, avoiding the stack of freshly folded laundry on one cushion only to find that he was sitting on something else entirely. He shifted sideways and pried the lumpy object out from under his leg, and then stared at it, nonplussed. 

A rather battered-looking stuffed pig stared back, and Giles was somewhat disconcerted by the fact that it actually seemed familiar to him. He placed it on the coffee table, avoiding its beady little eyes, and tried to appear relaxed as Spike strode in from the kitchen. 

The vampire himself was the epitome of relaxed - barefoot, clad in a white 'Union Jack' T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of jeans so worn that they were almost threadbare. 

Seth was tucked nonchalantly under one arm, rounded tummy resting in the palm of his father's hand, weight balanced against his hip. 

Spike jiggled the little body playfully. "'Ello, Rupert," he greeted. "Nip's about."

"So I see." The Watcher's lips twisted with amusement. "And doing a fine impersonation of hand luggage."

Spike grinned at that. 

Seth grinned as well, releasing a string of orange saliva that dribbled down his chin. "Bah!" he said emphatically. 

Giles grimaced. "He also seems to have sprung a leak."

"What?" Spike lifted the boy and peered intently at his face. "Oh. Pay no mind to that. He's teethin'. Gushes like a bloody fountain most of the time." He plopped down into the chair opposite the Watcher, setting his son on one knee.

"And the orange?" Giles watched, fascinated, as the vampire absentmindedly wiped at the baby's drool with the pad of his thumb and cleaned it off on the seam of his jeans.

"Mashed pumpkin," he explained. "We've been introducin' the Nip to solid food of late."

__

Ah, well, that explained Buffy's departure quite nicely...

Giles tried to maintain a veneer of polite interest. "So he's still... progressing normally then?"

Spike's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I was merely..." He stuttered to a halt, struck by something. "While on the subject of food though, Spike, I've never thought to ask. Do you still drink blood?"

"Well, yeah." The blonde shrugged. "Still got a demon lurkin' about in here, you know." He pulled Seth further into his lap so that the little golden head rested against the wall of his chest, and let the boy chew on one of his fingers. "Don't have much of a taste for it these days, but Spike's still gotta have his special protein drink ev'ry mornin'. Isn't that right, Nip?" 

Seth burbled happily around his father's spit-drenched digit and Spike looked back up at Giles. "That what you came over to ask?"

"No, I - I've actually got an answer to one of _your_ questions."

"Which was?"

"Regarding the matter of your aging." He shook his head. "It's all quite logical really. I don't know why we didn't realize it earlier."

Spike just looked at him, eyebrow cocked, waiting for him to get to the point. Seth, as though sensing his father's mood, went still and silent. Both of them stared at the Watcher with identical blue gazes.

"The aging process as we know it comes about through cell growth and renewal." Giles clasped his hands together and leant forward, elbows resting on knees, shifting into exposition mode. "This occurs through oxygenated blood flow. Since you've been linked to Buffy you've regained full use of both circulatory and respiratory systems, so it follows that your blood is now oxygenated in exactly the same way as any ordinary human being. It is reasonable to assume then, that you are aging at the same rate as the rest of us."

Spike let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "And that means...?"

"That you and Buffy will grow old and live out your lives together as any other couple would. Most likely to become doddering grandparents." Giles pursed his lips. "I am able to determine one drawback, however. As your body continues to house a demon, you are unlikely to fall ill, or be susceptible to other concerns associated with aging." He met Spike's eyes squarely. "Buffy will. And it's probable that when she _does_ eventually die, you will follow immediately afterward." He managed a smile. "Which is almost fitting, really."

Spike seemed to drift off. "You breathe, I breathe," he whispered softly. "'Til death do us part." His head suddenly snapped around toward the stairway as though someone had called his name. A lascivious smirk slowly curled his lips and he glanced back at Giles. "I'm, um, _needed_ elsewhere," he said carefully, and indicated Seth. "If you could -?"

"Oh, certainly."

No sooner had he uttered the word than Spike had shoved the tot into Giles' lap and dashed away, leaving them alone and staring at each other curiously. After a moment a loud thump was heard from overhead, followed by a crash and a giggle - oddly, not from Buffy.

Giles sighed. "Your parents are going to drive you to distraction when you're older," he informed the child. "Believe me, they're quite good at it."

Seth responded by seizing his glasses and wrenching them askew, smearing a grimy little handprint across one of the lenses. 

Oh dear. What to do? He'd had scant experience with children of any age, and found himself at a loss. The Watcher finally managed to extricate himself with a minimum of fuss and sat back out of reach, only to find himself captivated by the boy's face. 

Seth gazed at him solemnly, looking for the world like a miniaturized old man, wise beyond the telling. Giles had the distinct impression that he was being measured and found wanting - a sharp reminder of the remarkably precocious version of this child that he'd been introduced to via the Font of Knowledge. There was evidently more going on behind those guileless features than met the eye. He was very much like _both_ his parents in that regard.

"Ah, well. He-hello," he greeted hesitantly, feeling ridiculous. "I'm, er..." _What was it that the lad had called him?_ "I'm your... uh, P-Poppy G."

Seth leant over to pat his cheek, almost in approval, before lunging once again for his glasses, somehow managing to get drool all down the Watcher's face in the process.

"Oh, do stop that!" Giles complained, pulling away and rubbing his wet cheek against his shoulder.

"Guh," Seth said, then blew a bubbly, pumpkin-tinged raspberry. 

Giles sighed. That settled it, then. The boy was undoubtedly evil.

A muffled snort of laughter drew his attention back toward the open living room doors. Buffy was leaning against the frame, green eyes twinkling with amusement. How long had she been watching?

"Aww, Giles," she crooned. "Nipper tried to say your name."

Spike materialized at her shoulder, scowling. He was suspiciously rumpled looking, his platinum hair standing up in tufts. "He did not."

"Did too."

"Not."

"Did so too! You just don't want him to say anything other than 'Da.'"

"Da!" Seth chimed in helpfully over the argument, one chubby fist waving in the air. "Da-da-da!" He caught sight of the waving fist and drew it into his mouth. Enthusiastic sucking ensued. 

"Great," Buffy lamented. "He's already taking your side. I'm completely outnumbered." 

Spike snorted. "You're just jealous that he won't say yours."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

Buffy pointed at Seth. "I'll bet that whole messy sucking-on-things _thing_ comes from your side of the family too. You probably made obnoxious slurpy noises just like that when you were snacking on all your poor helpless victims."

The vampire raised a lazy brow. "Wouldn't mind takin' you up on that little wager."

"Oh! You...!"

Buffy lunged after him in a threatening gesture, and as Spike ducked away, giggling like a idiot, Giles noticed that the threadbare denim covering his backside had torn during his adventures upstairs, and that a strip of pale flesh was visible right along the top of his left rear thigh.

The Watcher rolled his eyes at their behavior. "I'm glad you two have reached such an elevated level of maturity," he drawled. "Such a wonderful example you're setting."

They didn't even look at him, continuing with their impromptu game of tag, dodging around the dining furniture room like a couple of pilots engaged in a dog-fight until the Slayer managed to insinuate her hand into the tear in the vampire's jeans, goosing him.

"Gotcha!" she crowed.

Spike's legs gave way from laughing so hard and they collapsed on the hallway rug in a breathless heap, Buffy sitting triumphantly in the middle of Spike's back.

"So," she gasped. "That was fun. Giles should come over and make with the Seth-distraction more often."

"Oh, I should think that Giles might have something to say about that," the Watcher commented dryly. Honestly, one could get the idea that they'd forgotten his presence entirely.

The way they scrambled to their feet after he'd spoken merely confirmed that idea.

Buffy immediately shifted into Mommy-mode: straightening her shirt, taking Seth from her Watcher, and then plopping down into the seat Spike had abandoned earlier, grabbing the stuffed pig from the coffee table and dancing it animatedly in front of the boy's face, all in one smooth movement. 

"So," she said, when she was settled. "What were you guys talking about while I was gone. All kinds of secret manly stuff?"

Spike scoffed. "You know damned well what we were talkin' about," he muttered. He stalked over and began collecting throw cushions from the sofa, tossing them into a colorful pile in front of the television. 

Giles watched him in askance. _What on earth was this? Some kind of previously unseen vampire nesting behavior?_

Seth was beginning to fret. He pushed the pig away. Buffy made it dance faster and more erratically, but that only made him push all the more. It became a battle of wills, and just when an explosion seemed imminent, Spike swooped in and spirited the baby away, depositing him in the makeshift play area he'd created with the cushions. Seth was perfectly happy to lie there, swatting at a plastic mobile dangling above his head.

Giles was impressed, though a little curious. Did this mean that Spike could sense Seth's moods the way he could Buffy's? It certainly merited further research. "How did you -?"

"Nip needs his space," Spike explained with an indifferent shrug, perching on the arm of the Slayer's chair. "And someone else needs to relax more."

"I can't." Buffy twisted a lock of hair around her finger with worrying intensity. She'd been letting it grow again, apparently progressing out of that bizarre period when she and Spike had been almost indistinguishable from each other. "He hates me. I know it. He can sense my Slayer-ness. Stupid vampire genes."

"He doesn't hate you, pet." Spike untangled the strand of hair, then began gently twirling it around his own finger, using it to draw her closer. "Just independent is all. Clever. Resourceful. Can't imagine where he gets that from." He leant down and rubbed his nose against hers, Eskimo-style. "Stupid Slayer genes."

They gazed at each other, a vampire and Slayer in absolute communion. After a long minute, Spike smiled and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Buffy's eyes drifted shut and she let out a tiny contented purr.

Giles cleared his throat. "So, now that I've said my piece, I believe I'll continue on to the Magic Box. I'm already late and Anya has been intolerable. I don't wish to give her further ammunition for one of her tirades."

Spike chuckled. "Give our regards to the newly expectant Mrs. Harris, would you?"

Giles nodded. He found now that he was reluctant to leave. The house hadn't felt this warmly welcoming since Joyce was alive. They had truly made it into a home. "I shall do that." 

He got to his feet, giving the couple a long, calculating look. 

"I do admire what you've accomplished here," he said, after a beat. "I know that in the beginning I wasn't the biggest supporter of this relationship, but you've defied insurmountable odds and come through it all the stronger. I'm proud of you. Both of you." When Buffy and Spike just stared at him, stunned, he smiled smugly. "And I do expect to be given priority when it comes to babysitting duties. Poppy G is counting on spending many productive hours with his honorary grandson." 

With that, he turned and let himself out.

Buffy blinked as the door closed behind him. "You know, that looked a whole lot like Giles, but the noise he made was funny."

"Reckon that was his way've giving us his blessing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Spike reached down and took her hand. "So, what do _you_ think. Want to do me the privilege of becoming Mrs. Liam Grey?"

"You're totally getting used to that name now, aren'tcha?"

"Just answer the bloody question, woman!"

"There was a question?"

Spike growled.

Buffy got up, moving to stand between his knees. She draped her arms over his shoulders. "Was there really ever any question at all?"

~[*]~

Seth giggled, continuing to bat at the mobile over his head. The plastic play-gym it hung from swung wildly when he made contact, teetering and then falling backward. He giggled again, stubby legs kicking in delight.

At the sound of his parent's own laughter, he paused, head tilting slightly toward the source of the noise, his tiny mouth twisting into a toothless replicate of his father's smirk. His eyes had been lightening over time to an icy blue, but they splintered now at the pupil, lines radiating outward in jagged precision, like a mirror shattering. After a moment the blue dropped away, revealing new color beneath.

A luminous yellow, strangely darker than that of Spike's demon and sparkling with age-old power. 

Deep. 

Fathomless. 

__

Golden.

****

THE END

A/N: Happy New Year, and That's All Folks!  
Yep, that's it. The lot, the works, the whole enchilada, the entire kit and caboodle, the... Okay, okay, I _do_ concede that there are still some plot holes big enough to drive the Angelmobile through, but I've deliberately wrapped it up this way I just in case I wanted to dabble again later. There are some ideas lingering... Hmmm...  
So, anyway, thank-you's galore to _EVERYONE_ who's taken the time and effort to review, you really have no idea how much they kept me going, especially after the Buffy finale debacle last year.  
Cheers to all, Dee. 

**__**

GRR... AARGH...


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